Amour Fou
by Brunette
Summary: COMPLETE! A tale of two marriages. Evelyn reluctantly agrees to marry Beni for the sake of her father's career, despite strong feelings for Rick O'Connell. Meanwhile, her exuberant cousin Delphine falls hard into a passionate secret affair with Ardeth Bay. Whether for love or convenience, you're only as bad as your partner. [a prequel to And Love Thee After.]
1. prologue

_Author's Note. I'm not sure if I ever enjoyed writing a fanfic as much as _And Love Thee After_, once I got back in the swing of it. I've had reviewers ask for a happy ending, which I just can't give (it's an Othello adaptation, folks). But something I can do, and something I've been wanting to do, is tell Ardeth and Delphine's love story, particularly in juxtaposition to Beni and Evelyn's not-love story. I love side-by-side plotlines; I love how they can bring out such interesting details in the opposite plot, but I've just never really done one. And this has just been one of my favorite universes, so I like the idea of using this story to explore it._

_Eventually-ish, I'm going to be revising _And Love Thee After_, particularly for grammar/etc, but also for congruency with this story. So basically, this story might have some things that would logically be mentioned or alluded to in _ALTA_, but aren't (yet). _

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Carnahan Manor: Cairo, 1924_

**prologue**

"Don't you dance, Major O'Connell?"

"I'm sorry?"

Evelyn Carnahan felt a blush rising to her cheeks, and had to look away from the American major's brilliantly blue-green eyes. She wasn't ordinarily so bold, especially at these kind of events hosted by the British upper-crust of Cairo, where she usually found herself outcast either by the others or by her own doing. Evelyn didn't have much use for parties and dances and elaborate dinners, but her father insisted that she come._ Make yourself present_, he'd said. _You may skip every other gala from here until Doom's Day, my dear, but you must make yourself present for this_. Evelyn wasn't going to put much stock in that promise, but she loved her father and she knew this was an important event for him, and it was the least she could do, she imagined. So she'd done just as he'd urged, and gone out and bought a terribly unsensible dress long enough to hide her very sensible shoes, and had caved to her brother's suggestion that she drink more champagne than was reasonably good for her. _Don't think about it so hard, old mum. After a few glasses even _you_ won't notice that you're dull and dowdy! _She'd given him a playful smack on the arm, but he'd said it with a kind and affectionate smile, and she hadn't taken any offense. At least not much.

And after her fourth glass of champagne, which tickled in the most delightful way, she found herself sitting at a table surrounded by the uniformed men of the one and only General Ardeth Bay. The man wasn't at the table with them, but loitered stiffly elsewhere, nodding his handsome but stoic head at whatever it was her father was telling him about. In the midst of the lightly-tanned British aristocrats, he stood out like a rare, dark bird. By that point in the night, however, most of the guests had ceased their worried glances in his direction, and for the most part paid him no attention whatsoever. He and his suspicious band of former Legionnaires and desert warriors might have been the savior of British civility a few years ago, but like any good messiah, he was properly brushed aside as an unpleasant but necessary peculiarity. Evelyn had seen him at a dozen or more of these events, but she'd never had the courage to go and speak to him, which always gave her a distinct feeling of shame. Her own mother had been an Egyptian, after all, and equally scorned or ignored at parties, and Evelyn knew it was wrong of her to cower behind her English features instead of offering him a welcome.

Though Ardeth Bay never looked particularly in want of a welcome.

Maybe after a fifth glass she'd be foolish enough to greet Ardeth like a fellow human being, but for now, she was at a table full of his less-conspicuous former Legionnaires. Evelyn wasn't quite sure how Ardeth had managed to pull together his small army of desert warriors and the previously-wanted men of Europe, but they were a fiercely loyal bunch - a fact that struck most with both admiration and fear. _"You can trust a general with men that loyal," _she'd overheard her father say once. And the British nobleman he'd been talking to had raised his eyebrows and hid a scoff in a glass of well-aged scotch. _"Tell that to the Roman Senate, Nigel."_ Evelyn supposed there was something about Ardeth Bay that conjured up images of Julius Ceasar, but it certainly wasn't that of a victorious conqueror. She could vividly imagine this crowd of bloodless and supposedly tame aristocrats stabbing him mercilessly in the back, however. From the look on Ardeth's face sometimes, he could imagine it, too.

But Evelyn knew, or supposed she knew, that his men would prevent such a thing from happening. Men like Major O'Connell, who was sitting just to her left, cautiously sipping at a glass of water. She didn't know what had brought a man like him into the ranks of Ardeth Bay's men, but a part of her was dying to find out. What had happened that a handsome, dashing American could suddenly find himself in this anemic den of Cairo's most sparkling inhabitants? His stiff posture and far-off eyes suggested that he was wondering the very same thing.

"I-I asked if you...dance..."

He startled, and choked on his water. Nervously, he shifted his weight, and beside him, someone snickered. "Oh, um...not really. I'm pretty terrible at it."

"Oh," Evelyn said, struggling to hide her embarrassment in another drink of champagne.

"But I'd - I mean, if you want to, I'd - "

Evelyn quickly shook her head. "Oh, no, don't be silly."

He swallowed hard, and took another sip of water. "Okay."

She licked her lips, willing desperately for her face to cool down. "Okay," she repeated, breathing it more to herself than to him. "I believe I've drunk too much to dance, anyway."

"You are only as bad as your partner," a voice suddenly piped in, and Evelyn looked past Major O'Connell to catch a glimpse of the slight, weaselly man sitting next to him. She hadn't noticed the other Legionnaire, and if she had, she might not have sat down at the table, drunk or no. There was something cruel and untrustworthy about his face, and she saw (or imagined she saw) the unpleasant glint of jealousy in his gaze as it shifted repeatedly to O'Connell. It finally landed on her. "You want to dance?"

He spoke with a distinctively Eastern European accent, which Evelyn might have assumed was Russian.

"Oh, um..."

Major O'Connell shot his friend a hard look before glancing back at Evelyn. "You don't have to dance with him."

Evelyn looked between the two of them awkwardly before at last forcing a smile and excusing herself. She didn't know where she was going, even in her own house, but she'd been foolish enough between all of that champagne and asking such a handsome and rugged man as Major O'Connell to dance with her. She pushed through the crowds with a sinking, cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. All her life she'd been a wallflower. Surely she should know by now that's where she belonged. How many times had she heard people politely remark to her parents that she was lovely or beautiful? And how few times had a man ever approached her, ever wanted a dance or a drink or a conversation? She felt the reaches of that disparity in her heart, and suddenly wanted to cry, even though she'd only met Major O'Connell. Even though she'd been to dozens of these stupid parties, and always,_ always_ found herself lonely.

At last she found a door and shoved it open, suddenly consumed and surrounded by the dark night air of the desert. She sucked in a little breath and leaned against the wall of the house, the cold face of the brick biting into her back through the thin fabric of her dress. She looked up into the sky and found herself strangely begging for the moon, but it was lost somewhere in the sparkling, scattered mess of stars.

"Miss Carnahan?"

The quiet, tentative voice made her jump, and she turned in surprise to see Major O'Connell standing just outside the doorway.

"Oh. Hello," she said, quickly wiping the moistness from her eyes and almost cursing as she caught sight of her smudged make-up on her hand. She almost never wore make-up, and now she'd gone and wiped it all over her face in front of Major O'Connell.

He took a nervous step towards her. "Look, I'm, uh, I'm sorry about earlier."

Evelyn glanced at her feet. "It was nothing."

He let out a heavy sigh. "No, I was...rude. Look, these things are just so...I'm not used to being at a place like this. I don't..._do_ parties. Not like this."

Evelyn looked into his kind, apologetic eyes, and smiled sadly. "Well, I've been doing them my whole life, and they haven't gotten any easier."

He chuckled. "That's comforting."

She watched him, and he watched her, and even though her heart was pounding to an exhilerating beat in her chest, she felt strangely comfortable staring into his eyes. A moment passed between them, and then he glanced down nervously and said:

"So, uh, are you still up for that dance?"

Evelyn smiled. "I'm a dreadful dancer."

He gave her a big, easy shrug, and offered her his hand. "You're only as bad as your partner."

She laughed aloud now, and took his hand, letting him lead her back into the house. The music had slowed to a safe, comfortable waltz, and she stepped into his arms and felt light as air. They swayed and misstepped and laughed nervously, and Evelyn felt herself relax against him. Between the champagne and O'Connell's lopsided grin, she felt like she was in a dreamworld - a brilliant, blue-green dreamworld she wanted to stay in forever. She wasn't sure how long she danced or when the party ended or how she even ended up back in her own bed, but at some point...at some strange point, she felt sunlight piercing hot and painful against her eyelids and woke up in her own room alone.

She tried to sit up, but her head was so heavy, she could barely lift it. She let out a moan and tried to go back to sleep, but her throat was so sticky and dry that she simply couldn't get comfortable. Loud, impatient knocking rang through her eardrums like bullet holes, and she struggled to pull her pillow over her ears.

It didn't matter; the door swung open, anyway, and she was greeted by the crisp, determined footfall of her father's shoes on the hardwood floor.

"Good morning, Evelyn," he said, his voice edged with something like annoyance. She squinted up at him, so carefully and perfectly dressed. "I missed you at breakfast this morning."

Evelyn gingerly pulled herself to a seat, nausea fumbling in her stomach and her head hanging like a weight. Her father held out a glass of cold water and two white pills.

"Have some aspirin, my dear. A hangover isn't so becoming on you as it is on Jonathan."

Evelyn wanted to laugh, but she felt too sick. She took the aspirin thankfully and sipped at her water.

"I have something to speak with you about. I was hoping you would join me for breakfast so we might discuss it alone, but it's already almost noon, and even your brother's awake now."

Evelyn nodded slowly. "I'm sorry," she whispered with a tinge of bitterness. How many times had Jonathan drunk himself into a stupor at one of their father's silly parties? And the man had yet to go and wake _him_ up with guilt and aspirin.

"Was it a marvelous success?" she asked dryly.

Her father gave her a stern look. "Perhaps."

Evelyn raised her eyebrows, even though it sent a stinging pain between them. "Perhaps?"

"I'm being considered for the governor appointment."

Despite how wretched she felt, Evelyn perked up immediately. She smiled and said genuinely, "Father, that's wonderful!"

He nodded, glancing at his hands for a moment. "They're considering Dartmouth as well."

Evelyn waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, forget about Dartmouth! They'll choose you. They must."

Her father gave her the cool, warning edge of his watery blue eyes. "Oh, no, Evelyn. They mustn't."

She frowned curiously. "Why not?"

Her father sighed. "Evelyn, no one trusts me with the risk of another native rebellion at hand."

"But why wouldn't they?" she insisted. "No one knows the Egyptian people like you - "

"And no one pities them like me, either," he said sharply. They shared a look. "You know what Dartmouth will do."

Evelyn shook her head in frustration. "But that'll only lead to more rebellions. Surely they can see that! Penning up these people and taking away their rights were the very things that brought on rebellions in the first place!"

Her father held up his hands. "I know. Don't I know."

She sucked in a sip of water, her heart pounding. "This is pigswallow."

Her father ignored her, though, staring out the window thoughtfully. She watched him, wondering what could have possibly so consumed his attention, and was about to ask him. But then he spoke up quietly, never looking away from the clear, blue sky.

"I believe I've found a solution."

Evelyn sat up a little, staring at her father and urgently waiting for his gaze. At last he turned and looked at her, but the expression in his eyes made her strangely nervous.

"Are you familiar with Major Gabor?"

Evelyn frowned in confusion. "You mean the torturer?"

Her father's brow furrowed sternly. "He's not a_ torturer."_

She met his gaze evenly, not bothering to hide her incredulousness. "He's a torturer, Father. Of Inquisitional proportions. Everybody knows that. What about him?"

"You met him last night at the party," her father said in an unreadable tone.

Evelyn shook her head, puzzled. "No, I don't believe so - "

"He said you sat at the same table. He asked you to dance."

Evelyn blinked, her mind rushing through the fuzzy memories of the previous night and at last landing on that brief conversation with O'Connell's companion. But the recollection offered no clarity, and she found herself more confused than ever by her father.

"Have you been speaking with him about me?"

Her father cleared his throat. "He's interested in you."

Evelyn raised an eyebrow and demanded, "In what way?"

He gave her a look. "In the usual way."

"You can't be serious."

He blinked, an airy expression clouding his eyes and making him look at once like the cold-blooded aristocrat he was.

"I'm perfectly serious. The man has single-handedly shut down entire battalions of rebels, and what's more, our people trust him."

Evelyn met his eyes evenly. "They do not. He's a Hungarian thief and we put up with him because he's delivered the desired results: dozens of Egpytian natives in prison, guilty or no. But they _don't_ trust him, and neither do I."

"Ardeth Bay trusts him."

Evelyn sucked in a little breath, suddenly at a loss of what to say. She didn't know much about Ardeth Bay, but she did know that he was a good man, and that he was the right man to combat the Egyptian rebels...and that he'd be immediately removed from power if Dartmouth or anybody besides her father got the governor appointment.

She met his eyes, and he stared at her with something like pleading in his eyes, though Evelyn had never known her father to beg or grovel for anything his entire life.

"Please, Evelyn," he said quietly, "consider the propriety and security of the arrangement."

Evelyn attempted to swallow the dry feeling in her throat with a little water. "And what arrangement is that?"

Her father cleared his throat. "We've been discussing the prospect of marriage."

She gasped, and could barely manage to stay still from the sudden, red-hot anger that shook through her entire body. "Oh, have you? You and Major Gabor?"

"Yes."

"Am I chattel now?"

He let out a weary sigh. "Hardly."

"You'll marry me off to that dreadful little man for your own political advantages," she said bitterly, her eyes flashing. "I'm chattel. That's what you think of me."

"Good God, Evelyn," her father said, suddenly impatient, his face hard and angry. "You are twenty-seven years old! Twenty-seven! Do you really intend to loaf about this house reading books your whole life?"

Evelyn's jaw dropped. The fiery fingertips of anger struck her before the hurt could. "It's never bothered you that Jonathan loafs about here and he's thirty-three!"

"Well when I die, it's his house to loaf about in, isn't it?" her father retorted, just as fiercely. His hands curled into fists in his lap. "Confound it! For years my colleagues have told me I'd done you no favors, sending you off to college and then graduate school and all of it, but I always insisted you weren't so naive. Today I see they've been right all along. You have_ nothing_ on your own, Evelyn. You have nothing but a womb and a good name, and I suggest you use them now before one or both of them goes to rot."

Evelyn's heart pounded in her ears, and it was all she could do to stare at her father with such painful and dumb astonishment, searching relentlessly for some manner of his old affection in his gaze. At last she had to look down, blinking hard and refusing the tears that burned in the corners of her eyes.

"A womb and a good name," she echoed quietly. "Then which is it you've been discussing your political career with all these years?"

He let out a loud sigh. "Do collect yourself, Evelyn. You're much too old for such tantrums."

Evelyn clenched her teeth, taking in a deep breath and holding it until the sob in her throat loosened. She looked up at him coolly, a note of defeat in her voice:

"You would have me marry this man. You would have him in our family for the rest of our lives. You like him_ that_ much."

She thought she might have caught the flicker of doubt in his eyes, but he blinked and it was replaced by stony resolve.

"He's a good man, Evelyn. You'll see that if you give him a chance."

She swallowed hard, and for a moment felt the inklings of a foggy dream, the edges of blue-green memories and the hope of promises in dances and too many glasses of champagne. Was her father right? Was she quickly nearing the end of her prime, unknowingly propelling herself into the uselessness spinsterhood? Had she been a fool to believe there might have been something between her and O'Connell? ...Perhaps she had been. It hadn't been the dashing American who had sought her hand. What if a weasel-faced torturer really was the only man left for her now? She felt something within her slam shut, like the door of a casket, and her whole body went cold in the sunlit room.

She didn't look up for a moment, but she nodded, and said at last: "Alright. If you think so, Father."

Her father might have looked surprised, but she didn't have the strength to look up at him.

"Are you quite sure, Evelyn?"

"Yes."

"That's - that's wise of you, Evelyn. I'm very impressed. You're usually so stubborn..."

An awkward and deathly still quiet fell between them for a moment, and Evelyn lifted her glass to her lips, drinking in a deep gulp.

"Shall we set the date for New Year's? We could have a small service as soon as Delphine gets back for Christmas - "

"No. I shouldn't like to wait that long."

Her father raised his eyebrows in surprise, but only said, "Oh. Well, when would you like to have it, then?"

Evelyn's gaze flashed up to his suddenly, hard and certain as the grave.

"Immediately."


	2. evelyn, you wicked thing!

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Carnahan Manor: Cairo, 1924_

**"evelyn, you wicked thing!"**

Delphine's voice nearly squealed with glee, and the smile beaming from her face was enough to brighten Evelyn's expression of forced happiness. Delphine wrapped her arms around her cousin and gave her a squeeze, but just as quickly, she was jumping back, her hands fluttering like excited birds.

"Ooh, let me see it! I want to see it!"

Before Evelyn had the chance to extend her hand, Delphine took it, staring at the simple, thin band of gold around her finger for a moment before frowning.

"Well, there isn't a diamond on it," she said, glancing up at Evelyn with a look that was almost suspicious. She quickly turned her disapproving eye to Evelyn's quiet fiance, lounging in a chair with a cigarette in his mouth.

"That's what she wanted," he said, his tone something between a grumble and a whine. Delphine's eyes went wide, and she turned and looked at her cousin in astonishment.

"Evelyn! You didn't want a diamond? You simply_ have_ to have a diamond. Everyone has one."

Evelyn might have looked embarrassed, and shifted her weight uneasily, pulling her hand out of Delphine's grasp. She folded her hands in front of her, carefully wrapping her right hand over her left and hiding the inconspicuous glint of jewelry from view. But Delphine wasn't worrying herself over the ring any longer. She bounded over to Beni's chair, standing over him with her hands on her hips.

"I suppose I can't fault you for giving her what she wants," she told him with a flirtacious, scolding smile. "And I just know you would have given her a diamond if she'd wanted, wouldn't you? The biggest, gaudiest diamond you could get your hands on."

Beni held back a snort, glancing up at Evelyn with an ugly smirk that she pretended to ignore.

"Oh, yes," he said pointedly. "The biggest she's ever seen."

Evelyn clenched her teeth, but Delphine didn't notice. She plopped herself in the seat right next to Beni's, leaning on the arm of the chair and gazing at him. He glanced at her in nervous puzzlement, but her infectious joy seemed to take the edge off of his general unpleasantness.

"I just love your accent," she told him. "Are you Russian?"

"Hungarian."

"Well, I love it just the same. I just love accents."

A greasy grin found its way into the corners of his mouth. "Well, you have a nice one, too. If it was up to me, all women would speak with French accents."

Delphine glanced down and giggled. "Oh, it's always so much worse when I come back! You know I speak French the whole time I am there. And then I come back here, and my mind is a mess. I pick English back up fine, but then I keep dreaming in French for weeks, and every morning I can't help but speak it for at least the first thirty minutes every day!" She looked at Evelyn and laughed, "Mara is always so confused!"

Evelyn gave her a smile that quickly faded to a revolted scowl as her fiance said, "Then you should wake up with me. I can speak French any time of the day."

Delphine gave him a playful smack on the arm and gave Evelyn a wink. "Now I see why you like him, Evelyn. He is so charming and funny!" She turned her attention back to Beni, giving Evelyn the opportunity to indulge in rolling her eyes. "She is so serious all the time! Well, as you know. Of course you know. She needs someone who will make her laugh."

Evelyn let out a loud sigh, avoiding the darkly amused expression Beni kept glancing at her with, and was about to suggest she help Delphine unpack and freshen up. But the front door swung open, and Jonathan stumbled in, a grin beaming from his pleasant face. He caught sight of his cousin and something quiet and joyful twinkled in his eyes. Delphine let out a little squeal when she saw him, and he held open his arms, catching her as she ran into his embrace.

_"Jonathan!"_ she shouted. She kissed both of his cheeks and then his mouth. "Oh,_ mon cher_, how I have missed you!"

He held her close for a moment and kissed the top of her dark, glossy head of loose curls. "I've missed _you_, love! This place is just plain dull without you."

Delphine breathed a happy sigh, gently stepping out of his arms. "That is so kind of you to say."

Jonathan looked at her seriously. "It's true. Father's an incorrigible grouch without you. You've simply got to stay this time, or we'll all suffer."

She wagged a finger at him. "Ah, ah, ah,_ cherie._ One more semester. You know that."

Jonathan waved his hand dismissively. "Psh. What do you need it for?"

"An education," Evelyn said sternly, giving her brother a pointed look. Jonathan rolled his eyes.

"Education, smeducation. All of that bookish poppycock is fine and well for you, Evy, but Delphine's much too interesting for that. And besides, Paris doesn't appreciate her the way we do. We're in a desert and positively starving for someone as fascinating as Delphine!"

Delphine giggled. "Stop. You'll make me blush."

"And a fine blush you have, darling."

Delphine rolled her eyes, a smile on her face the whole time, and swatted his arm. "You're a fool, Jonathan, but I love you anyway." She let out a sigh and turned her attention to Evelyn, her violet-blue eyes brightening as if she was just then reminded that her cousin was even in the room. "But I am being so selfish! We are not here for me. We are here for Evelyn!"

She crossed the room to her cousin and took her warmly by the hand. "Oh, Evelyn, I knew this day would come! You will be the most beautiful bride. Now, when is the wedding?"

Evelyn shrugged stiffly. "Tonight."

"Tonight!" Delphine turned and stared at her with wide eyes and mouth agape. "You are getting married _tonight?"_

"Yes."

Delphine's hand tightened around Evelyn's.

"You can't get married tonight! You have seen each other!" she said, looking between her cousin and Beni disapprovingly. "It is bad luck to see each other before the ceremony on your wedding day. Don't you care at all about bad luck?"

Evelyn pressed her lips into a tight line, and glanced at Beni briefly before looking back at Delphine with a carefully veiled expression. "I think the cards have already played themselves out."

Delphine frowned, thinking this was a strange thing to say, but decided not to interrogate her further. It seemed she'd already embarrassed her cousin enough over the ring; it was probably best to keep her mouth shut on the matter of the wedding date. She quickly smiled, trying to look and feel as carefree and happy as she had a moment ago. She gave Evelyn's hand a squeeze and nodded in the direction of the staircase.

"Well, you must show me your dress! I'm dying to see it."

Evelyn forced a smile. "You've seen it. It was my mother's."

Delphine shook her head, starting to drag her towards the stairs. "I've only ever seen it in pictures! And I want to see it on you - "

Just then, the front door opened again, and Evelyn's father walked in. His face was set in its usual, stern expression, and he was in the middle of a conversation with the tall, dark man at his side, but he stopped immediately upon catching sight of his neice, and his face broke into a wide grin. He gave her a tight hug and stepped back to look at her, reaching his hand up to touch the side of her face. His eyes were soft with a nostalgic and vaguely melancholy expression, and he said quietly:

"My word, you're your mother all over again."

Delphine smiled, struggling to blink away the tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks at his words. She kissed his cheek and told him how happy she was to see him again, and then her eyes strayed, just for a moment, to the man at his side, and her breath caught in her throat.

Delphine had lived a large portion of her eighteen years in Egypt, being raised by her uncle after the deaths of her parents when she was only ten years old. She spent most of the year in her native France attending finishing school, but the hot, unbearable summers usually trapped her indoors in Cairo, where she was relieved of her boredom only by high society parties and the occasional trip to the bar, when she could talk Jonathan into taking her. And even though Cairo was more or less her home, she found herself perpetually surrounded by people who looked and talked and acted like her; people who wore the latest fashions and discussed the latest gossip and thought she was exotic for having such dark hair and blue eyes. And in that little sheltered world, she'd never seen anyone like the man standing before her. Not ever.

She'd seen Egyptians, of course. But always the impoverished kind, robed in dirty camel hair and whispering together in rapid Arabic, glancing at her with disapproving and begrudging dark eyes. She stayed away from them, because in truth, they scared her, even though they were mostly harmless, just trying to go about their days in a country that was stolen out from under them. But this man, with his haunting eyes and grim, handsome features and mysterious facial tattoos didn't frighten her. She was deeply curious about him, and the mere glance of his eyes caused a stirring in her heart. She wasn't scared of him, even though she got the distinct impression that, perhaps, she should be.

Just barely, she heard Evelyn mention her wedding gown, and felt her hand close over hers. She followed her up the stairs numbly, glancing over her shoulder once more at the man before they made it up to the second floor and he was completely obstructed from view.

"Who was that?" she asked softly.

Evelyn gave her a curious look. "Ardeth Bay...he's that Arabic general. Surely you've heard something about him."

"No," Delphine said, "I haven't. But I would like to."

Evelyn looked surprised, but gave her a little shrug. "Oh, um...there isn't much to tell, I suppose. He's the chieftain of some sort of mysterious desert...well, cult, I suppose. They have some sacred site out in the desert - they claim it's Hamunaptra, but most scholars contend it doesn't exist - "

"Anyway," Delphine cut in before her cousin could get carried away in a rant about ancient Egypt. Evelyn gave her a thin smile.

"Yes, anyway. Father became acquainted with him through a rather sticky situation at one of Jonathan's dig sites. He was impressed by Ardeth's passion and discipline, and so he negotiated a compromise with him. He garaunteed the safety of Hamunaptra if Ardeth would organize a battalion to protect Cairo from rebels."

Delphine let out a sigh, and Evelyn opened the door to her room.

"He's very handsome," she said dreamily, her gaze far-off even within the walls of the room. She didn't see Evelyn frown thoughtfully.

"Is he?" she said quietly. "I suppose I never noticed."

Delphine balked, staring at her in something like shock. "You never noticed? How could you not notice?"

Evelyn cleared her throat nervously. "Well, I don't know...I suppose...I mean, he_ is_ sort of frightening. I've never seen him smile."

Her cousin just stared at her for another skeptical moment before at last shrugging her shoulders. "Well, I suppose he's not your type. He's nothing like Beni."

Evelyn let out a bitter laugh, and started to say, "Beni isn't exactly - " But she stopped herself and briskly crossed the room to her closet, finding the white silk gown that had belonged to her mother, and pulling it out for Delphine to see.

It was all Delphine could do not to grimace. Not because it wasn't a lovely gown, because it was. The silk was in surprisingly good condition, and there wasn't a stain to speak of. The color had yellowed a little, but not unpleasantly, and as far as she could tell, the dress was as fine that day as it was in 1890. But that was just _it_, and Delphine couldn't believe Evelyn couldn't see it. Those puffed, ruched, ridiculous sleeves! The corset! The layers upon layers of fabric! Had Evelyn really forgotten she was getting married in Egypt, and that it was actually 1924? Wedding gowns now were so airy and light and fluttery; she was going to be so uncomfortable in that suffocating old thing. Sentiments aside, the dress was a stifling prison, and Evelyn couldn't really mean to get married in it.

Could she?

"It's lovely," Delphine said at last, forcing her most genuine smile. "It's so quaint. And you know your father is going to cry when he sees you in it."

Evelyn gazed down at the dress for a moment, her lips pressed into a thin line and her eyes constantly blinking, as if she was fighting back tears. At last she took a deep breath and said:

"It's going to be bloody hot."

Delphine almost laughed, watching her cousin cautiously. "Evy, you don't_ have_ to wear it, you know."

Evelyn's eyes jumped up to hers, wrought with an unreadable emotion. "No, I want to wear it."

Delphine's gaze retreated in embarrassment. "Oh. Of course. I'm sorry."

"I know it's dreadful," she said gently. "Mother would have never let me wear it. She positively hated it."

"Did she?" Delphine said in surprise. "Her own wedding gown? That's a shame!"

Evelyn almost smiled to herself. "She said she nearly passed out during their first dance." Her smile faded, and a strange, serious look came over her features. She spoke now to the dress and no one else, "She said she could hardly think, she was so uncomfortable. The entire day went by in a blur...and then the next morning she woke up, and she was married."

Delphine watched her cousin curiously, wanting desperately to ask why she would want to experience her wedding like that, but asking such a question made her feel young and foolish. So she pretended to nod knowingly and said:

"Cold feet?"

Evelyn looked at her with a desperate kind of melancholy in her eyes, and failed to force a smile. "Something like that."

Delphine looked at her curiously for a moment, but quickly hid her puzzelment with an airy, reassuring grin. "Well, you have nothing to worry about. You're going to be a wonderful wife, and Uncle told me in his letter that Beni is a hero, no less! You must be so proud of him. He seems terribly clever."

Evelyn blinked, her expression not quite changing. An uncomfortable silence fell between them for much too long. Delphine was desperate for something to say, but she found herself in the unfamiliar position of having nothing. She thought of mentioning school and what she was studying, or some of the more interesting gossip, but at the moment, she couldn't recall a single thing to say. Evelyn looked so lost and dazed, she wondered for a moment if she wasn't feeling well.

"Help me get it on," Evelyn murmured, holding out the dress to Delpine. She took it, running her fingers over the hard ridges of boning in the bodice as Evelyn undressed.

"Are you - " Delphine glanced down in embarrassment.

"What is it?"

She stared steadily down at the dress and said awkwardly, "Are you nervous about...tonight?"

Evelyn fingers froze on the buttons of her blouse, and she swallowed hard. She forced a dismissive smile. "Why should I be?"

Delphine straightened in interest, and leaned a little closer to whisper anxiously, "Have you already done it?"

"No!"

"Oh...sorry."

Evelyn huffed a little sigh and put a hand on Delphine's arm. "You have nothing to be sorry about..."

Delphine shook her head. "No, I do. I didn't mean to make you feel...dishonorable. You just...I would think most people would be nervous..."

Evelyn nodded at the dress in her hands. "Hold it out for me."

And that was all she said. She stepped into the gown and Delphine attempted to lace up the back, but found herself utterly lost. After several trying minutes, she at last went down to the kitchen and found Mara, Lord Carnahan's loyal and virtually life-long servant, who had Evelyn strapped into the dress in less than a minute. She looked at her and smiled sadly, reaching a weathered hand up to touch her face.

"I remember lacing that dress for your mother," she said softly. Her dark eyes searched Evelyn's for a long time, and her expression hardened into a suspicious frown. "Are you alright?"

Evelyn glanced away and told her unconvincingly, "Yes."

Mara pulled her close, and Delphine strained her ears to hear what she whispered. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she heard the aging woman say, "Just close your eyes. Tonight, just close your eyes."

Evelyn nodded her head slowly, her eyes closed as if she was in prayer, and Delphine watched as if she was a fly on the wall, disconnected and unacknowledged (except maybe as an annoyance). She watched her cousin carefully, a thousand questions swirling in her mind that she tried to put to rest. Because Evelyn was older. Evelyn was smarter. And Evelyn wouldn't dare marry anyone unless she wanted to. Maybe she was nervous about the ceremony or her dress or about that night (despite what she said). But she certainly couldn't be concerned about the marriage. Evelyn was too smart and too stubborn.

She watched Evelyn suck in a deep breath, wincing a little under the constraints of the corset.

"Can you breathe?" Delphine asked her.

"Enough," Evelyn said.


	3. she did look lovely

_Author's Note. Have you noticed how I'm totally neglecting my other stories for this one? I'm totally neglecting my other stories for this one. Also, Lyrical Ballads, try not to choke on the Ardeth fluff that quickly _becomes_ this chapter. I warned you. (The next is all Beni, though! Spoiler Alert! And with any luck, it'll also be up tonight, because I am on a roll.)_

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Carnahan Manor: Cairo, 1924_

**she did look lovely.**

Even in that hopelessly dated gown, even though she never quite smiled, even though her eyes had a kind of blank, melancholy stare and she kept sucking in breaths like she was drowning. She looked lovely, Delphine thought, sipping at champagne as Evelyn was lined up stiffly next to her new husband, and the photographer snapped a single photograph, bleaching the parlor for a brief moment in a flash of white light. She looked lovely, like Snow White under the lid of her glass coffin.

"Bloody hell, is she going to pass out?" Jonathan murmured in Delphine's ear.

She let out a sigh. "I tried to tell her not to wear it."

"Well, I suppose you can't tell a historian to stay out of something old, even if it _is_ a bad idea."

Delphine giggled, but quickly stifled the noise in her champagne. Despite being a wedding, the affair was strangely quiet and stoic, and it felt wrong to laugh. She hoped between the copious amounts of champagne and cake available that the mood would lighten up, but for now, everything was quiet and rather dreadful.

It was a small ceremony, which hadn't surprised Delphine. Evelyn wasn't the type to want the whole world present just to watch her exchange vows in a white dress. She could be painfully practical and times, so when Uncle Nigel had told her Evelyn was getting married, and soon, she wasn't expecting to attend the gala of the year.

Still...was Delphine the only one who knew weddings were, in fact, happy occasions?

There was almost no one there. Evelyn's family was small; her father's only sibling was Delphine's mother Beatrice, long dead, and her mother was completely disowned by her large Egyptian family when she married an Englishman and became a proper Anglican, baptized and all. Lord Carnahan, Jonathan, and Delphine were her only family, and she didn't have many friends. Maybe no friends...The few other people there were Lord Carnahan's business and political associates; the sort of people who would be aghast if they weren't invited to his daughter's wedding, even if they weren't entirely certain they'd met Evelyn before.

Beni's situation was even more dismal. Delphine hadn't exactly heard the story there yet, but as far as anyone could tell, he was a perfect loner. He never spoke of parents or siblings or even a childhood, according to Evelyn. She'd said it with a certain kind of bitter malice, as if she entertained the notion that he'd just sprung from the dirt like a weed. But surely Delphine had misinterpreted that. Evelyn was marrying the man. She couldn't possibly be choosing to spend her life with him - to sleep in his bed and have his children and eat dinner together, night after night - if she didn't want to. Nobody made Evelyn do anything she didn't want to do.

Regardless, Beni had no one except Ardeth Bay, who was essentially his boss, and Rick O'Connell, who he claimed was his friend, but he wasn't particularly kind or welcoming to the man. He watched O'Connell relentlessly through stolen little glances, desperate for some kind of reaction, and even though she couldn't hear the things Beni was saying to him, she could tell from his expression and posture that he was bragging.

Delphine really didn't think much of Beni, but she only had a few hours' acquaintance to go off of, and if Evelyn liked him well enough to marry him, then he must be alright. Anyway, he was family now.

She glanced away from Rick and Beni, and scanned the room until she noticed Ardeth Bay, dressed in a smart Western suit and hanging reluctantly next to the punch bowl, listening to her uncle. She took a little sip of champagne and then tugged on Jonathan's arm urgently.

"Do you know General Bay?"

"Uh - "

"You simply _must_ introduce us, Jonathan!" she said, dragging him across the room despite his nervous protests about "not knowing the man - _exactly_ -". They arrived at the punch bowl and Delphine bounded right into the middle of their conversation, likely because she was the only person on earth who could without invoking the wrath of Nigel Carnahan.

Jonathan wasn't so lucky, and recieved the icy edge of his father's notoriously sharp glare. He gulped and tried to sheepishly tug Delphine away, but she slipped her elbow easily from his grasp.

"Uncle, Jonathan was just telling me what a terrible shame it is that I haven't met General Bay's acquaintance, yet," she said, turning her vibrant indigo eyes to Ardeth with a friendly smile.

"Oh. Of course," Lord Carnahan said. "General Bay, this is my neice, Delphine Bertrand. She's joining us for her Christmas holiday for the next month."

Ardeth took her hand and gave it a polite shake. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

She smiled, staring emphatically into the endless, mysterious depths of his eyes. "The pleasure is all mine."

His brow furrowed curiously, and he looked for a moment like he might smile, but glanced all the sudden at Lord Carnahan and quickly resumed his stiff expression. Delphine frowned.

"Do you dance, General Bay?"

Lord Chamberlain chuckled, and Jonathan winced nervously.

"Oh, Delphine, you oughtn't trouble the General with that - " said her uncle.

And Jonathan quickly tried, "If it's a dance you're wanting, I'd be happy to, darling - "

But Ardeth stopped them both with his quick, cool words: "Of course."

Delphine smiled devilishly, catching a glimpse of her relatives' puzzled and surprised faces before taking Ardeth's arm and letting him lead her out onto the dance floor, where only two other couples were swaying to a quiet waltz (and neither of whom were the newlywed couple).

"I think you've properly shocked them," she giggled, stepping into his arms. To her surprise, he led her seamlessly into the waltz, keeping perfect time with fluid, graceful steps. A smile threatened the corner of his mouth, but he kept it dutifully in check. "You're an excellent dancer."

He did smile now, but for only a fleeting moment. "Thank you."

"Where did you learn?" she pressed, desperate to maintain the conversation.

He shrugged. "Do you know what a chameleon is?"

She frowned curiously, but answered him. "Yes. It's a lizard that changes color."

She watched his throat jerk with a nervous swallow, and he let out a bitter chuckle. "Do you know why it changes color?"

Delphine wasn't sure why they were talking about lizards right now, but she certainly wasn't going protest. She was talking with one of the most handsome men she'd ever seen, who, as it happened, was also a remarkable dancer. And she was just going to answer his questions.

"Oh, I don't know. To blend in?"

He gave her a strained smile, glancing cautiously away from her in the direction of the punch bowl.

"So that it doesn't get eaten," he said quietly.

She stared up at him, waiting for his glance to flick back to hers. At last he looked at her again, almost reluctantly, and seemed sorry for the way his gaze traced over her face and dove into her eyes.

"You could not blend in if you tried," she told him, pulling him a little closer. His body stiffened in her arms, but he didn't step back right away.

"Neither could you," he said before gently pushing her back to an appropriate distance. The waltz drifted into the final stanzas, and he immediately released her, giving her a polite little bow. "Thank you for the dance," he said quickly, just before brushing past her. She turned and watched him leave, shocked and a little offended. She saw him bid a hurried good night to her uncle before striding hurriedly towards the door.

Delphine sucked in a little breath, and walked quickly through the crowd to the French doors that opened onto the veranda. The cool night air took her breath away, but her heart was pounding too hard for her to feel cold, even in the light, sleeveless gown she was wearing. Once outside, she ran as fast as her heeled feet could carry her, around the side of the house, past the front porch, and down the drive, where she could just make out Ardeth's outline against the inky backdrop of his auto.

She rushed up to meet him, calling his name in the empty yard. She saw him startle, and look at her with something like dismal confusion on his face.

"Delphine - Miss Bertrand - "

"Did I say something to offend you?" she asked breathlessly, pushing an unraveled curl out of her eyes.

He stared at her in bewilderment. "What?"

"You're leaving," she said persistently. "You're leaving because of me."

"No - "

"You are!"

"Please, Miss Bertrand - "

"It's Delphine," she said emphatically. "It's Delphine, and you're Ardeth, and I want to know why you hurried off from me like that."

He blinked at her, looking more than a little worried. He glanced nervously back at the house. "I did not mean - Have you perhaps drank too much?"

Her jaw dropped, and he actually winced under fury of her wide-eyed stare.

_"I beg your pardon!"_

"I'm sorry. Forgive me," he said quickly. "I did not mean any offense. But surely you could see that what we were doing was inappropriate."

Delphine stared at him, her mind blank for a want of words. At last she was able to manage. "We were_ dancing_. At a _wedding."_

"Arabic men have been hanged for less," he said, bitterness coloring the edges of his words. "I am in a very delicate position right now with your uncle and his friends - these powerful men of Cairo. Did you see the way they were watching me? I cannot be dancing with you. With any of their women. I could lose everything."

Delphine swallowed hard, suddenly feeling the chill of the evening. She wrapped her arms about herself and let out a sigh. "It was _just_ a dance..."

He stared deeply and seriously into her eyes. "There is no such thing," he pronounced firmly.

"But - "

"Stop," he told her, sounding every bit like a commander of men. "You did not run all the way out here because it was 'just a dance.' I don't have time to play the games of a romantic young girl. You are putting my livelihood at risk by being out here, and you will go back inside and leave me alone."

A sick feeling dropped into the pit of Delphine's stomach, and she felt the color drain from her face. She stood there, too shocked and angry and embarrassed to move, and stared at the gravel, biting down hard on her lip against the tears welling in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered at last, shaking her head. She heard him let out a defeated-sounding sigh, and when she looked up at him, his expression had softened with regret and apology. The corner of his mouth twitched painfully to see the tears in her eyes, and he opened his mouth to say something, but quickly shut it. They stood there in the night, staring at each other, waiting for words that just wouldn't seem to come.

At last Delphine forced a little smile and started to turn away.

"Good night," she said, and took the first few steps back towards the house. She was thinking about a very large glass of champagne, but his words abruptly ended her fantasy of bubbling, numbing forgetfulness.

"I could lose everything," he said.

She tensed, and called back over her shoulder, "Yes, you said that already. I understand."

"I don't think you do."

She stopped, turning around to look at him curiously. He stood there, watching her with a conflicted expression marking his handsome face. He took a few tentative steps towards her...and stopped.

"I have never, ever considered taking such a risk."

Delphine bit her lip, watching him thoughtfully. _"Are_ you considering it?"

He crossed the distance between them and pulled her into a kiss. She was startled and exhilerated by the feeling of his strong arms around her body, by the thirsty urgency of his lips, by the rough scratching of his beard. She sucked in a little breath and wound her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to herself, her whole body humming with excitement and recklessness and a vague sense of how very, very foolish this was.

When at last he broke the embrace, they stood there gazing at one another, chests heaving, their quick, anxious breaths roaring in their ears. It took Delphine a moment to realize that she'd been smiling like an idiot, and she quickly tried to find a more veiled expression.

"Is that a maybe?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ardeth glanced at his feet, his face creased with something like worry. He let out a heavy sigh and swallowed hard.

"I think it's too late for maybe."


	4. would you open your eyes?

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Carnahan Manor: Cairo, 1924_

**"would you open your eyes?"** Beni demanded in his grumbling whine. "My God, I've had opium addicts who were more awake."

Evelyn sucked in a little breath and reluctantly opened her eyes, gazing stubbornly up at the cold, white ceiling. She didn't want to look at him. She couldn't. The thing was done. Over with in a small eternity, neither pleasurable nor agonizing. The pain she'd always heard about was brief and unmemorable, the very nature of the thing itself. _That's it?_ she wondered dismally. _That's what the whole of the human race longs for and obsesses about? _And yet now that it was done, she felt empty and cold and used. There was a numbness all about her and within her, and the only thing she could feel - really feel - was the lingering embarrassment of seeing Rick O'Connell again, sheepish and vaguely concerned, at her wedding. _Congratulations,_ he'd said, the word falling unconvincingly from his mouth. _I had no idea you guys were so - um. I mean, I'm happy for you. He's a...good...guy. _She couldn't look at him, not with the forced politeness in his eyes, lovely graveyards of the blue-green dreams she'd lost herself only a week before. She couldn't look him in the eye, even though she desperately wanted to. She thought she could feel tenderness and pity as he traced her face a final time, and excused himself to get some cake.

She could feel a different gaze eyeing her now, but not with any sort of tenderness or affection.

It was over with. The thing was done. She'd had a marvelous evening with Rick O'Connell a few nights ago, but that was all. He probably had marvelous evenings with women all the time...

Her nose wrinkled at the smell of tobacco smoke, and despite her general disdain for him, she turned on her side to give Beni a disapproving grimace.

"Are you smoking?"

His brow furrowed in puzzlement, and he held up a cigarette between his fingers. "Yes."

"Don't smoke in here," she told him.

His expression darkened with irritation, and his eyes glinted back at her defiantly. "Why not?"

She huffed a sigh, glaring at him in disgust. "Because it's putrid habit and it'll make the sheets stink."

"So wash them," he retorted, a smirk crawling up his face. "They need to be washed anyway."

Evelyn sat up, dragging the sheet with her, and attempted to snatch the cigarette from between his fingers, but he quickly maneuvered it away. A self-satisfied smile lit up his cruel face when she burnt her fingertips on the glowing end of the cigarette. She let out a yelp and waved her hand frantically, trying to cool the painful burn. He watched her with something like amusement, taking another victorious drag.

"You should run some water on that."

"Shut up!" she told him, attempting to blow on the ends of her fingers.

He blew out a trail of smoke languidly. "It hurts like hell, on the tips like that."

She froze suddenly, looking at him with wide-eyed repulsion. Her stomach turned when he only sneered back, that aggravating cigarette still taunting her between his teeth.

"Trust me," he added coolly. "I am an expert."

Evelyn didn't bother hiding a grimace. She sucked on her fingertips thoughtfully, looking at him the way people gawk at circus freaks, or any other equally fascinating, pitiable, and horrifying oddity. She looked at his hands: ordinary, thin, large-knuckled hands that, according to rumor and a few newspaper articles, had performed stomach-turning horrors on captured Arab rebels and innocent civilians alike. The very same hands that groped about her body only a few moments ago had also shoved needles under fingernails and poured acid on faces and, at some point long before that, slipped wallets out of the pockets of unsuspecting tourists.

"Who are you?" she asked quietly, forcing herself to look away from his hands in an attempt to force those thoughts from her mind.

He gave her a quizzical look. "What?"

"Who are you, exactly?" she said again, staring into his eyes persistently. "Are you the man they say you are? Did you really hurt all those people?"

He raised his eyebrows, staring back at her like she'd asked him the silliest question in the world. "Of course. There is a reason your father asked me and not Rick O'Connell."

Evelyn froze, sucking in a liitle breath all of the sudden. He watched her with a suspicious frown, and she quickly swallowed that statement like a pill, choosing to focus on the other thing he said. "The innocent ones, too?"

Beni scoffed, gazing at her in dark amusement. "Well if I had known who was innocent and who wasn't, I would not have had to bother with the torture."

Her eyes narrowed, and she looked him over suspiciously, biting down on her lip. "You_ really_ do that? You torture people?"

His mouth twitched with annoyance. _"Yes."_

Evelyn shook her head in astonishment, her expression falling from suspicion into dismal resignation. "How?"

Beni just stared at her, more puzzled than ever. _"How?"_

"Yes, how! How could you possibly do that to another human being?"

He let out a high-pitched sigh, muttering a stream of Hungarian grumbles that were most certainly profanities. She continued to watch him, her hands clenched in fists around the bedsheet.

"Oh, God, you are going to be one of those?" he whined.

Evelyn sniffed. "One of whom?"

"Bleeding heart, 'oh, the_ poor_ rebels!' - "

Her jaw dropped, aghast, and she cut in before he could finish. "People with a shred of compassion, you mean? People who believe in a silly little notion called human dignity? One of _'those'!"_

"Oh, shut up!" Beni told her, snuffing the last bare remnants of his cigarette out on the side table. "I am a hero! Ask anybody. I should have known you would be this way, though. Your father said you were all..._educated_. You have never had to work for a single thing in your life, and so you look down on everybody else who does what they have to do."

She crossed her arms over her chest, securing the sheet over her body, and glared at him in offense. "That's so rude! And perfectly untrue! That's not at all how I am."

Beni scoffed loudly. "Well, you certainly look down on me."

Evelyn started to say something, but stopped herself. She let out a weary sigh and attempted to sound a little gentler, "I don't look down on you..."

He let out a short, bitter laugh and leaned over the side of the bed for another cigarette from the carton in his pants. He held it up at her tauntingly before slipping it between his lips and lighting it up.

"I am going to smoke this," he told her. "I don't care about the sheets."

She sighed. "Beni, listen..."

"Yep."

Evelyn ran a hand through her disheveled hair and sat up a little straighter. "This isn't going to work if we're going to be at odds with one another."

He blew out a trail of smoke and glanced at her. She couldn't quite read his expression, but she thought he looked a little bored.

"Perhaps we could try this conversation anew."

He gave her a dubious look. "Perhaps you could drop that sheet and I could screw you again."

Evelyn flinched, her whole body tightening nervously. She glanced down at her hands. "Oh, um...I don't know about, about that - "

"Yeah," Beni said darkly. "That is about how badly I want to talk to you."

Evelyn pressed her lips together, and she sighed in defeat. "Perhaps we ought to just...turn in for the night."

Beni didn't say anything, and she sat there next to him in the awkward silence, listening to him breathe in cigarette smoke and blow it out again.

"I'll, uh, just be getting my nightgown, then..."

He glanced at her, frowning when she didn't move from the bed. "So go get it."

Her eyes flitted across the room, to where the nightgown lay in a chaste pool of silvery white silk on the floor. She stared at the thing begrudgingly, biting down on her bottom lip.

"It's over there," she mumbled, more to herself than to him.

Beni's eyes flitted over to the spot she was staring at and let out an impatient sigh. "So?"

She glanced at him sheepishly before quickly dropping her gaze to the sheets, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. "Would you...I'm sorry. I'd just be more comfortable if you'd...not look at me."

He raised his eyebrows, letting out a short laugh of disbelief. "You are joking."

Evelyn cleared her throat, straightening her shoulders a little. She told herself she had no reason to be ashamed of her request. "Well, we don't exactly know each other that well, and I'm just not comfortable with being so...open, just yet."

Beni stared at her with wide eyes for perhaps a full minute; perhaps much shorter, but it felt like an agonizing eternity to Evelyn.

"You're naked. Right now."

She glanced down. "Yes, I know..."

"I just fucked you."

Evelyn winced. "I'd _really_ appreciate it if you didn't use that sort of language - "

He scoffed, his eyes growing hard with anger and irritation. "And now you will tell me how to talk, too."

"Beni, listen - "

"No," he said in a dark, bristling voice. "You listen. Your father begged me to marry you, not the other way around. And I am going to smoke where I want to smoke and say what I want to say, and I am going to look at you when I want to look at you. God, for a woman whose father had to pawn off like a leper, you are much too picky!"

Evelyn sucked in a little breath, and she knew from the cruel expression on his face that he could see he'd upset her...and simply didn't care. She swallowed hard and stared back at him, determined not to fall to the weakness of crying. _For a woman whose father had to pawn off like a leper... _Is that what had happened? Her father had given the impression that he and Beni had come to a mutual agreement about the marriage. But Beni was making it quite clear that he was coerced - possibly even bribed - into become her husband.

The situation was suddenly all the more dismal.

"So you didn't want to marry me, either," she said softly.

Beni rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on."

Her bright, green-gray eyes flashed up to his emphatically. "You didn't."

He gave her a cruel, sarcastic smile. _"Of course_ I did, my dear. You are beautiful and rich and...I think I already mentioned beautiful. But if I had known you were such a prude, I would have asked for your cousin instead! My wedding night would have been a lot more pleasurable."

Now it was Evelyn's turn to roll her eyes. "Oh, don't be an idiot. Delphine wasn't remotely interested in you. She's like that with everybody."

"Even better," he retorted, his scowling gaze glinting back at her. "Then she knows what she's doing."

Evelyn's lip wrinkled in disgust. "She isn't like that. She's just...French."

Beni let out an incredulous laugh. "The French are snobs. Your cousin is a slut."

Her hands curled into fists and she clenched her teeth, physically resisting the urge to hit him. More aggravating than his insult to her cousin, though, was the bitter reminder that her own husband - like everyone else - preferred Delphine to her. And a hidden part of her tensed begrudgingly...because Beni's stupid remark about marrying Delphine reminded her suddenly that her father never, ever would have pawned her off as a sacrifical lamb to his career the way he had with Evelyn. And she hated that Beni could bring up such thoughts.

"You know, just because you don't have a family doesn't give you the right to talk about mine like that."

He snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "I have a family."

"Well, you never talk about them."

Beni glared at the end of the bed. "That is because they are awful," he said, more to himself than to her. He let out a disgruntled sigh and leaned over for another cigarette, mumbling all the time in Hungarian. For a moment, Evelyn felt guilty for mentioning that, since she'd obviously drudged up some memories he didn't want to relive. But as soon as he lit that third cigarette and breathed in the first drag, he was as calm and nasty as ever.

"Besides, what do I need them for?" he said sarcastically, giving her a mean and petty smile. "I have _you_ now. And our children someday..."

He reached over and took her hand. She tried to pull it from his grasp, but his fingers tightened painfully around hers. She bit down on her lip as the rough skin of his thumb found her burnt fingertips and brushed over them.

"Just think," he said mockingly, "You could be pregnant _right now."_

She stared at him, and he stared persistently back. She suddenly felt queasy, her hand trembling uncontrollably in his grasp, and she struggled to stay calm.

"Please let go of me," she whispered.

His thumb brushed over her fingertips a little more roughly, possessively, telling her the cruel reality of the situation she already knew she was in. _You belong to me, Evelyn. You married me and now you are stuck with me. You are going to sleep with me and go to parties with me and have children with me, because that is what married people do. _He grinned a grim and impish grin, and released her hand.

"Go get your stupid nightgown."


	5. mr gabor

_Author's Note. Lyrical Ballads, I totally looked up whether Hungarians prefer coffee or tea, and they're totally into coffee (espresso, actually, due to the Turkish influence). Restaurants there are just now starting to serve tea. So it looks like I'll have to do some editing!_

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Carnahan Manor: Cairo, 1924_

**"mr. gabor."**

The harsh, articulate voice cut through Beni's head like a knife, stabbing his mind awake out of the numb fog of sleep and arousing a pointed headache. He could barely open his eyes to the piercing light glimmering through the curtains, and when he tried to sit up, his back and arms and legs all cried out in cramped pain. He spat a stream of especially nasty Hungarian curses, cradling his head in his hands and realizing disdainfully that he'd fallen asleep in a spindly, antique couch with rock-hard cushions. He sat up and squinted at the bastard who had the nerve to wake him up, and cringed.

"Good morning," Lord Carnahan said grimly, a cup of tea in one hand and the saucer in the other. He took a prim little sip. "Bully of a night you had, I presume."

Beni attempted to swallow the dry, sticky feeling in his throat and rubbed his face. He swore he could feel his head throbbing under his fingertips.

"Since you're up," Lord Carnahan continued with a smooth sort of severity, "I thought perhaps I might reiterate something that I'm positive we discussed previously, before you married my daughter, but bears repeating. Do you mind if I sit down?"

Between Beni's hangover and the early hour, he was certain he understood absolutely nothing his father-in-law had just said, execpt the part about sitting down. Before he could muster an answer, Lord Carnahan slipped into a chair opposite him, and place his cup and saucer on the coffee table between.

"You might recall a conversation we had regarding...discretion."

Beni blinked his blood-shot eyes hard, too weary and annoyed to remember the meaning of the word, _discretion._

"Do you recall what we discussed?"

Beni just looked at him quizzically, his jaw slack for a moment before he realized he might just vomit. He quickly closed it and leaned his chin on his hand nonchalantly.

"Remind me," he managed to say through his clenched teeth.

Lord Carnahan's mouth twitched, but his gaze retained the persistent, veiled emptiness of manners. "Mr. Gabor, I fully realize that you and my daughter weren't wed under any sort of romantic pretenses, and I'm hardly expecting a person such as yourself to adhere to a lifestyle of fidelity. What I_ do_ expect, however, is that - in spite of your sordid past - you maintain a certain level of _discretion_, and have the common decency to behave like a gentleman, _as we agreed that you would."_

Beni swallowed hard, the choking feeling of bile gone and replaced by intense irritation. He met Lord Carnahan's eyes squarely, a cold glare making itself at home in his petty, sneering face.

"Whatever do you mean?" he said in flippantly fake innocence, not even bothering to sound convincing. "My _darling_ Evelyn and I had an argument, and I came down here to sleep on the couch. You see, she is just so impatient to have a baby, and I must tell her - "

"You're behaving like an ass," Lord Carnahan cut in, the edge of his voice sharpening. "I realize that carousing with prostitutes was par for the course in the gutter you crawled out of, but you'll not be embarrassing this family with your own laziness. Now, I haven't a care what droll little slut with whom you choose to occupy yourself, so long as she doesn't turn up with a bastard or draw a scandal, but you'll do it quietly, you'll come home on time, and you'll always, _always_ wake up in that bed. Are we quite clear, Mr. Gabor?"

Beni stared at him for an aggravated moment before at last grumbling an agreement. Lord Carnahan gave a succinct little nod, took a sip of tea, and excused himself from the room. Beni rolled his eyes with a groan, trying vainly again to rub the ache away from between his eyes. He knew he needed water, but the thought of drinking anything made him sick. He tried to lay down on the sofa again, but all of his efforts were useless; only a drunk could get comfortable enough to sleep on the damned thing.

He reluctantly stood up and stumbled out of the room, holding onto the wall for balance. He made it to the staircase and gaze up at them dismally, the world tilting a little before his eyes. He blinked hard and grasped hold of the banister, hoisting himself up the first step and then the next, and the next, all the way up to the top - miraculously, without losing his balance or slipping. He at last reached the door of his and Evelyn's bedroom, lurching it open and fumbling his way inside.

Evelyn was still in bed, but woke up with a start when the door opened. Her brow furrowed, and she squinted at the doorway for a moment before a tired and vaguely concerned grimace marked her face.

"Did you just get in?"

He collapsed next to her, not even bothering to take off his shoes. Her nose wrinkled in disgust.

"God, you smell like a waste bin."

"I love you, too," he groaned into his pillow.

Evelyn shook her head, tapping at him with one reluctant finger. "Beni, you're positively filthy. Go wash up."

"I want to sleep," he whined, turning his face to the side and staring up at her with half-lidded eyes. "My head is killing me."

She rose a scolding eyebrow. "You need to drink some water. And you need to take a shower."

"I want an aspirin."

Evelyn huffed a sigh and pulled herself out of bed. "I'll get you an aspirin, but you must bathe. If Father sees you like that, he'll positively wretch."

"He has already seen me," Beni said.

Evelyn closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath for patience. "What did he say?"

Beni muttered something she didn't hear. When she asked him to repeat it, he said:

"Discretion."

Evelyn sighed, taking him by the arm. "Come on, now. Up."

He swatted her away, but Evelyn Carnahan...Gabor...wasn't easily defeated. She took him by the arm more firmly, and tugged at him until he at last gave in and sat up, cursing the entire time.

"Now," she said at last. "Go wash up, and I'll bring you some water."

"I said I want aspirin," Beni told her testily. "And coffee."

She crossed her arms over her chest, staring down at him persistently. "You'll notice I haven't bothered you about where you were all night, or why you look and smell like a pig sty. So I think the least you can do is get off of this clean bed and into that shower."

Beni gritted his teeth and glared up at her, his patience worn transparently thin. He'd had about enough of these English people telling him what to do.

"I was at a whorehouse all night. They had palenka so I drank almost a whole bottle. Then I had two women at once and got thrown out and walked home. Also, I_ think_ I vomitted on this suit."

He watched her, scrutinizing her face with an almost giddy kind of nastiness, anticipating her certainly explosive reaction. She stared back at him, her lip quivering and that little muscle next to her eye twitching. He smirked, and she clenched her teeth, looking away from him in an attempt to gather any patience she might be able to find. She sucked in a deep breath, and let it out slowly, knowing all the time that he was delighting in her barely-maintained calm.

"Tonight is the New Year's Gala. They will officially announce Father's appointment to the governor's seat. So you'll want to wash up, and you'll want to shave."

Her gaze turned back to his, and he could tell she was satisfied to see his disappointment at her lacking reaction. His eyes narrowed at her, and hers narrowed back, daring him to try and take this small victory from her. Beni stood up, and rose to the challenge.

"You are such a dear, not to be upset," he said with sickening sweetness. He reached a hand up to her face, but she flinched away. "Oh, forgive me. I am so filthy, as you said. Why don't you come shower with me, my dear?"

He saw her jaw tighten, and he couldn't help his successful grin. Any time he asked Evelyn to do anything _marital_ with him, she was immediately trapped in the unfortunate conundrum of either conceding to his wishes (which she never wanted to do) and wiggling her way out of them (which she knew she could only do occasionally). Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she stared hard at him.

"I don't want to get my hair wet," she said at last. "It won't have time to dry before the party."

His eyes narrowed, and she could tell he was scouring his mind for the proper retort. She watched a grim smirk work its way across his face triumphantly.

"Of course," he said easily. "Then perhaps when you come back up with my coffee and aspirin, we could get back in bed."

Evelyn's whole body tensed, and her temper burst with a frustrated, "Ooh! What do you want me for, anyway? You've already had two women in the last twenty-four hours! What could you possibly want with me?"

Beni's jaw dropped, aghast. "You are my wife!"

She shook her head, storming away from him. "Oh, of course I am, when it's convenient for you! It didn't seem to matter that I was your wife last night!"

He followed after her wagging an accusatory finger. "You know, maybe if you acted like a wife, I would not have to see other women! _You_ chased me into their arms!"

Evelyn scoffed. "Oh, nobody chased you anywhere, and least of all to a brothel! You found your own way there without any trouble."

His face contorted with a few different, frustrated expressions. With nothing else to say, he pointed at the door:

"Go get me my damned aspirin!"

"Fine!" she huffed, stomping across the room and throwing open the door. She was so determined to get away from him that she nearly ran down the hall, her vision blurried by anger. She stormed right into the dining room, and it wasn't until she met her father's eyes that she realized she'd forgotten to put a robe on, and stood there in only her thin and delicate nightgown.

Lord Carnahan glanced away from her and took a sip of tea. "Good morning, Evelyn."

"Good morning," she managed, trying not to sound as aggravated as she was.

"I trust you slept well last night."

Evelyn's whole body tightened, bracing herself, because she knew, she just_ knew_ where her father was taking this conversation.

"It seems you had the whole bed to yourself," he added, taking another little sip of tea.

"Really, Father, not now," she said in a tone that was barely respectful. "I'm on a hunt for aspirin - "

Her father let out a little, cynical scoff. "Well, with the way you're rampaging about, I would hate to be the aspirin."

She turned and looked at him squarely, her arms crossed over her chest. "He was out all night with prostitutes! I believe I'm entitled to a bit of rampaging!"

Lord Carnahan raised his eyebrows. "My dear, at the risk of sounding crass, you've been married to the man for two weeks. If you can't keep him in your bed, that's entirely on you."

Evelyn's jaw dropped, and her face flushed hot with embarrassment. She gaped for words, but she simply couldn't bring herself to say anything in her own defense - not to her _father_, of all people.

"And at the risk of sounding invasive," he continued easily, much to her dismay, "perhaps you might make an effort to...keep your husband under control."

Evelyn couldn't take any more of this. Without a word, she hurried out of the dining room and into the kitchen, so horrified she felt sick. She rifled about the drawers with shaking fingers, at last finding the aspirin. She let out a shaking sigh, and occupied herself with making a clumsy pot of coffee.

She didn't want to think about her father's words because they made her feel absolutely petrified with humiliation. Why couldn't have Beni come up to bed last night? Why did he have to just...fling himself down on the sofa where her father would find him? Beni had started going out almost immediately after their wedding, and at first she was actually relieved. She would just as soon he take care of his carnal desires with other women, assuming he would leave her alone. But after the first few nights of it, her attitude changed. For one thing, he _didn't_ leave her alone. And if she was still expected to be a proper wife in that regard, then she'd rather not be party to whatever diseases he was encountering at the brothel.

Further, it was more than a little embarrassing. Most nights, he just left, right after supper, and she had to endure the rest of the evening hours under her father's disapproving eye, lying to Delphine about her husband being out "working." The lie was growing thin, and she was tired of her father's disapproval. He was putting the task on her to rein him in...But what did he know about dealing with Beni? He'd so conveniently arranged this marriage without fully considering the consequences of handling him. The marriage certainly suggested Lord Carnahan's support for a tough political stance on rebels, but Beni himself was a rude ex-criminal with no breeding at all. Had her father_ really_ expected him to function in upper class British society?

The coffee was ready. Evelyn poured a cup.

Her father had asked her to keep Beni "under control." But how was she supposed to go about that? And...and what was all that blather about it being her fault he went to brothels in the first place?

Unwelcomed guilt stabbed at Evelyn, and she felt a sinking feeling in her gut. Was she really to blame for Beni's behavior, at least in part? She knew she had been less than a willing wife to him, but that was only because he generally disgusted her. The more she got to know him, the less she liked him, and the less she wanted him to touch her. Still... His behavior was a problem, not only to her father's career, but to herself. She needed to protect herself, from both disease and scandal, and she supposed it was only logical that he would go out less if he recieved more at home.

Her stomach turned at the thought. She busied herself at the cupboards again and found a bottle of gin. With a dutiful sigh, she took a hefty swig, wincing when it burned her nose. She blinked hard, the alcohol working a fuzzy feeling over her head already, since she hadn't eaten yet. She took another little sip and quickly replaced the cap. Steadying herself, she took the coffee in one hand and the aspirin in the other, and strode through the dining room without even looking at her father.

She felt light as she went up the stairs, and pushed away the feeling of dread that poked at her as she opened her bedroom door. She crossed quickly, mechanically, to the bathroom and slipped inside.

The mirror was fogged, and the room was stifling with steam. She placed the cup of coffee and bottle of aspirin down on the sink, ran her hand through her hair, and undressed. She wished she'd brought the bottle of gin with her, but she was going to have to rely on the faint buzzing in her head to be enough.

She pulled back the shower curtain and met Beni's surprised eyes with a forced smile and dead eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'd like to make amends."


	6. is that jemima willoughby?

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

_*Not that it matters a ton, but **Jemima** is pronounced in the British fashion,** jeh-MEE-muh,** rather than the American, pancake-associated jeh-MY-muh._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Governor's Hall: Cairo, 1924_

"I say, **is that jemima willoughby?** Over there, in the pink gown?"

Evelyn glanced in the direction he was indicating, and Delphine stood up out of her seat a little to get a better view. Beni didn't even bother to look, and took a swallow of his drink.

"I think it is," Evelyn said, shaking her head in disapproval.

But Jonathan grinned with something like excitement. "I can't believe it."

"What?" Delphine asked, looking between them impatiently. "I don't live here right now, you know! You're talking about Jemima Hartley, aren't you? Is there a scandal?"

Evelyn sighed. Before she could contrive a delicate answer, Jonathan was filling her in on the gossip, giddy from scotch and his cousin's eager gaze. Beni leaned in a little, enticed by the notion of something remotely interesting at this dull, British party.

"Well, you know she married ol' Oliver Willoughby - "

"No!" Delphine gasped, delighted. "Oliver Willoughby? Really?"

Jonathan nodded. "Yes, and - "

"But he's twice her age!"

"Over," Evelyn said grimly. "She was only twenty when they got married, and he was...fifty-one?"

Beni smirked. Jonathan tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I think it was fifty, old mum. Because remember, she had the ring at his fiftieth birthday party - "

"Anyway," Delphine cut in. "What's this about a scandal?"

Jonathan smiled. "Of course, darling. This is pretty good stuff - "

"It's not," Evelyn said with a chiding frown. "It's actually tragic."

Jonathan rolled his eyes and ignored her. "Well, six months ago, they were staying over at the Beaumonts', for some occasion...? Anyway, it doesn't matter. They were over there, and the house was bombed by rebels."

Delphine's eyes widened like saucers. "No!"

Jonathan nodded his head gravely. "It was a dreadful tragedy, love. Oliver was killed, both the Beaumonts, and probably six other guests. Jemima's the only one who survived who wasn't half-disfigured by the fire, but get this - " He lowered his voice, and Delphine and Beni leaned in closer. "She was eight months pregnant!"

"No!" Delphine gasped, shaking her head in shock. "That's dreadful! Did she lose the baby?"

"No, he was fine. Born premature, probably from the shock of it, but a healthy lad."

"Still," Delphine sighed, leaning back. "What a dreadful thing. It's just her alone at the Willoughby house, with the baby?"

Evelyn sniffed. "Well, it certainly_ should_ be. But here she is, out at a party, only six months after her husband's death. And wearing pink, no less."

"What a dreadful thing," Delphine said again. "That's just awful. A widow and a baby, and only twenty years old?"

"Twenty-one now, I think," Jonathan corrected.

Delphine gazed at Jemima across the room thoughtfully, studying her lovely, laughing form. "It's good she wasn't burned. Perhaps she'll be able to remarry."

"Well, she may not have been burned," Jonathan said, "but she knocked her head pretty hard on the drive, and one of her eyes turned brown."

Delphine turned and stared at him. "It did? So she has one blue eye and one brown eye?"

Jonathan nodded.

"How odd."

"It's actually rather pretty," Evelyn said. Delphine glanced back at Jemima again.

"I simply have to see it. Won't you go invite her over, Evelyn?"

Evelyn balked. "Me? I hardly know her - "

But Evelyn didn't have to argue long with her cousin over Jemima Willoughby. The woman in question happened to glance their way suddenly with her strange eyes, and noticed something that drew her over with surprising determination. In several fluid strides, she stood before them in that offending pink gown, a shiny satin that skimmed her body and flaunted a low, draping neckline. She wore several strands of pearls and the enormous diamond she'd been given as an engagement ring, and a glittery feathered headband to accent her fashionably short, dark gold hair. Just as Jonathan had said, one of her eyes was quite dark, while the other was a pleasant, clear blue. She had a pretty, mischevious mouth that was set in a quiet smile. And she was looking at Beni.

"Excuse me," she said, "but are you Major Gabor?"

Beni took one look at her neckline, and smiled. "I am."

Her expression brightened, and she held out her hand. "I thought you were. My name is Jemima Willoughby, and I simply must shake your hand."

He stood up and shook her hand, too smug and flattered by her attention to look confused.

"You see, I was in a home that was bombed several months ago by rebels, and I've been told you're the very person who brought those horrible men to justice."

Beni glanced back at Evelyn, dying to see the look on her face, but she was much too polite to wear any particular expression. He turned his attention quickly back to Jemima.

"Everyone else was killed," she said, "including my late husband and...I simply must thank you. I'm finally able to sleep at night again. I know it's only a trifle by comparison, but...may I buy you a drink?" She glanced back at Evelyn and smiled innocently. "If your wife would allow it, of course."

Evelyn gave her a thin smile in return. "Of course."

"Congratulations on your marriage, by the way."

Evelyn thanked her; Beni offered her his arm, and they sauntered off in the direction of the bar. Evelyn let out a sigh and glanced at her brother, but Delphine said:

"Oh, that's so nice!" She looked at her cousin, nearly beaming. "Doesn't that just make you proud, Evelyn? Every woman should be fortunate enough to marry a man she can be proud of..."

Her voice drifted off, because she noticed a much more enticing figure across the broad hall. Even in a crowd the size of this one, there was no mistaking the tall, exotic form of Ardeth Bay. She excused herself so quietly that Jonathan didn't even hear her, and wandered towards the man across the room in a dreamlike state. Different guests tried to stop her, tried to ask how finishing school was going, and was she in her last semester yet? And a handsome stranger might have asked for a dance, or to get her a drink, but she ignored them. She slipped through the crowd, feeling as if she was floating on air, right up to the man she hadn't seen in two weeks' time.

Her hand felt numb as she reached up and touched his elbow. He turned in surprise, and smiled when he saw her.

"Good evening, Miss Bertrand."

She didn't smile and shook his hand. "Good evening, General. Why haven't I seen you?"

Ardeth blinked, glancing cautiously around the crowd before looking at her with nervous eyes. He lowered his voice, "Delphine, what would you have me do? I have not been invited to your uncle's house. It isn't proper - "

"Well this whole thing isn't proper!" she whispered back. "Listen, I can't just go weeks without seeing you."

Ardeth sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't think you really understand what all is at stake for me right now."

She almost glared. "At stake? You've put nothing at stake! You're seeing me at parties - "

"I hardly know you," he cut in, leaning a little closer to her for just a moment before immediately taking a few paranoid steps back.

Delphine froze. She stared up at him with her big, deeply blue eyes and shook her head in shock. She took a step closer to him, closing the distance between them again, and said:

"You either want this or you don't. We may not know each other, but unless you are willing to make an effort to try, we'll never find out if there is something real here, or if - if that was just a kiss in a driveway."

She took another little step, gazing up into his face, eyes brewing with a violet-colored storm.

"I am supposed to be on a boat back to Paris in three days. Shall I go?"

His mouth pressed into a tight line, and he glanced at his feet briefly before scanning the crowd again.

"Ardeth," she said urgently, pulling his gaze back to hers again. "Shall I go?"


	7. not what she had in mind

_Author's Note. I wanted to publish these together since they're so short. _

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Governor's Hall: Cairo, 1924_

Much to Beni's delight, a drink was **not what she had in mind**, and he had let Jemima pull him nonchalantly past the bar and down a quiet little hallway, an enticing little smile on her face as she slipped into the first available bathroom.

"Tell me, Major Gabor," she said, perched on the sink with the skirt of her gown hiked up to her hips and her legs still wrapped around him, "do you feel properly thanked?"

She slipped her hand into his pocket without asking and found his carton of cigarettes. She plucked out two cigarettes with her slender fingers, pressing one between his lips and putting the other between hers.

"Because darling, I'm so grateful, I'd willingly give it a go whenever it's convenient for you."

Her hand slid into his pocket again, but she frowned when her fingers curled around a box of matches.

"Haven't you got a lighter?"

He looked at her quizzically. "I have matches."

"Well I don't want to use matches, darling. I always singe my fingers."

Beni almost rolled his eyes, jamming his hand in his pocket and pulling out a match. He struck it against the sink and lit both cigarettes, and then waved it out.

"Oh, that was _so_ hard," he said sarcastically.

She giggled, sucking in a drag and blowing out a trail of smoke in a satisfied sigh.

"Maybe I just wanted you to be a gentleman and get my light."

Beni raised an eyebrow. "Why should I be a gentleman? You are not a lady."

Jemima giggled good-humoredly again, glancing down her body. "Why? Because I haven't pulled my straps up yet? Well, darling, if that's what would make you happy - "

She started to push the straps of her dress back up to her shoulders, but he stopped her.

"Hey. Who said I was done with you?"

She took her cigarette between her fingers and gave him a coquettish grin through a veil of smoke. "Weren't you, darling?"

"No," he told her, pulling out his cigarette to give her a deep, hard kiss. She made a surprised sound in the back of her throat and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. When his lips strayed from hers, down her neck, she took a deep breath, smiling as she sighed.

"Oh, why did I marry such an old man?" she said, gasping when he was inside her again. "Poor Ollie would have never been up to all this."

Beni didn't want to hear about Jemima's late husband, so he told her to shut up in Hungarian and silenced her with another kiss. She was done talking after that, and clung to him tightly with her long nails, biting his shoulder to keep from making a noise.

When they finished, she looked at him with a pleasant smile and kissed his face.

"Do you think I'm a dreadfully bad woman?" she asked. He couldn't quite tell if her expression was playful or not.

"What?"

"Do you think I'm _bad,_ darling?" she said again, twisting her head to look at herself in the mirror. She frowned, attempting to tease her hair back into place with her fingers. "You know everybody thinks so."

Beni shrugged, buttoning his collar and working on retying his tie.

"Heavens, I look a fright," she said, pulling up her straps and sliding off of the sink. She looked herself over critically. "Satin wrinkles so...You know, I thought about wearing something else, but I'm positively ravishing in this, even with this beastly eye."

"Your eye is fine," he told her, his voice strained with irritation. "Evelyn just said she thought it was pretty."

Jemima raised her eyebrows, looking her reflection in the eyes. "Symmetry is the key to beauty, darling."

"Did you really think I would not have screwed you over your eye?"

But she wasn't listening. She tried vainly to straighten out her dress, and sighed. "I suppose it's positively unavoidable: everyone's going to know I recieved a rutting of Shakesperean proportions."

She turned away from the mirror, facing him suddenly. "Your wife will know, won't she? This is a dreadfully long drink."

"I've had longer."

Jemima's jaw dropped, and for the first time she seemed offended by his flippance. She swatted his arm. "You wicked thing! Here I've come to you like Cleopatra in a rug, and you haven't even taken full advantage."

He gave her a look. "There is only so much you can do in a bathroom."

"Then perhaps you should come to my bedroom."

Beni's brow furrowed, off-put by her forwardness. But she met his gaze with lazy, half-lidded ease.

"Darling, you're a married man, and I'm a mourning widow. What on earth do you think I'm asking you for?"

He relaxed and shrugged, picking up his suitcoat from off the floor and putting it on. "Alright."

She smiled, just barely. "Marvelous. Now, about that drink."

Beni opened the door a crack, looking both ways down the quiet hall before sneaking out. Jemima followed him at an innocent distance. He walked up to the bar and was about to order a drink when a hand clapped him on the back and startled him nearly out of his skin. He whirled around and met Jonathan's gaze with wide, guilty eyes.

"There you are, ol' boy," Jonathan said, and Beni breathed a sigh of relief. His brother-in-law was clearly drunk past suspicion. "How was your drink with the lovely Mrs. Willoughby?"

Beni eyed him for a moment before answering cautiously: "Fine."

"Good, good. Glad to hear it," Jonathan slurred pleasantly. "Isn't every day your work's properly acknowledged, I suppose."

Beni didn't say anything, and tried to wave down the bartender.

"Bloody grim business you're in," Jonathan went on. "Most unsightly. I don't know how you do it."

Beni sighed, glaring desperately at the bartender in the hopes he might notice him.

"How _do_ you do it?"

Beni let out an impatient sigh, turning to look into Jonathan's cloudy, congenial eyes.

"With pleasure," he said, a sneer on his face. Jonathan blinked heavily, staring at him in confusion.

"But isn't it an awful mess, what with the screaming and the blood and all of it? And the fingers...scattered all about..."

Beni shrugged, giving the bartender a dark look when he at last made his way over to that end of the bar and took his order. He turned back to Jonathan with annoyed reluctance.

"Why are you asking me about this? What do you care?"

Jonathan leaned back in surprise, nearly losing his balance. He took hold of the bar and steadied himself again.

"I don't know. I suppose you could say I'm morbidly fascinated."

Beni let out a sigh and took a grateful sip of his vodka. He turned and looked Jonathan in the eye, his gaze a steady and hard gray-blue.

"There are never fingers scattered around. I do not cut off fingers unless I have to."

Jonathan frowned curiously. "Really? And why not? I'd think those would be the first to go..."

"No," Beni said, shaking his head. "Because the great fear is in losing one. You hold it over their heads. Because once they have lost one finger, they are not afraid to lose another."

Jonathan stared at him for a moment, and then cleared his throat nonchalantly and loosened his collar.

"Oh, well...of course..." he said nervously, not quite looking up at his brother-in-law. "I suppose that makes sense - "

Beni caught sight of Jemima, just down the bar. She smiled and waved her fingers at him before returning her attention to the woman next to her.

"Where's my wife?" Beni said, interrupting Jonathan tersely. "I want to go home."


	8. ready to go

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Governor's Hall: Cairo, 1924...1925_

"What do you mean, you're **ready to go**?" Evelyn demanded tersely when Beni found her in the midst of the gathering, excited crowd. "It's a quarter to midnight at a New Year's Eve party, and besides, they're announcing Father's appointment just after the clock strikes twelve. We're not going anywhere."

Beni scowled at her and crossed his arms over his chest. He was groggy from his time with Jemima, and he hadn't gotten a decent sleep since the day before yesterday, no thanks to Lord Carnahan's stupid, antique couch. He wanted to go home and go to sleep, and he wasn't at all interested in staying another fifteen minutes. He was about to tell her that he was going and she could ride home with her brother, when O'Connell's tall, handsome form sidled up next to them.

Beni didn't even bother to hide his distaste. "What are you doing here?"

Rick's eyebrows rose. "I was invited, just like every other government employee."

Beni watched him steal a glance at Evelyn, and suddenly he wasn't so intent to leave. Any opportunity to throw his pretty new wife in O'Connell's face was worth his time, exhausted or not. He wound a possessive arm around Evelyn's waist, irritated to feel her body tense against him, and looked up at Rick with a smarmy grin.

"Where is your date?"

Rick shrugged. "Didn't bring one."

"Oh, how sad," Beni said, obnoxiously sympathetic. "Then who will you kiss at midnight?"

O'Connell gave him a quizzical look. "Anybody. That's what happens on New Year's."

Beni's smirk faded to a disgruntled expression, and pretended to occupy himself with checking the time on his watch.

"Say, have either of you seen Delphine?" Jonathan asked, popping up beside them. He stood straighter and scanned the crowd, letting out an impatient sigh.

"No," Evelyn said, her gaze drifing over to Rick's. She looked at him for a moment, and sucked in a little breath. "You're looking well, Major O'Connell."

He gave her a polite smile that didn't quite make it to his eyes. "You too, Mrs. Gabor."

The words sunk to the bottom of her stomach like millstones._ Mrs. Gabor_. She hated it. She hated being a "Mrs.," and she especially hated wearing his name. It felt heavy and dark on her shoulders, smothering away her individuality and making her nothing more than the wife of a terrible man. _Mrs. Gabor. _She hated the way Rick had said it, too, like he was naming the wall that suddenly stood between them. She wanted to talk to him more, but she couldn't stand to hear him call her that again.

She glanced at Beni with fluttery nonchalance. "What time is it?"

He gave her an irritable look and dug out his watch again. "Five til."

"Blast," Jonathan said, looking back and forth frantically.

Evelyn gave him a curious look. "She'll be fine, Jonathan."

"I don't want her to get stampeded - "

Evelyn let out a short laugh and rolled her eyes. "You were never so concerned about _me_ getting stampeded on New Year's."

"That's because everyone was bloody terrified of you."

She stared at him with wide, offended eyes. "I'll have you know I always received plenty of kisses on New Year's."

Jonathan looked at her incredulously. "Oh, I suppose so, but not a one of them would have dared stick his tongue down your throat like half the banquet's been waiting all evening to do to Delphine."

"Oh, really, Jonathan!" Evelyn huffed. "Must you be so vulgar?"

Her brother started to protest, but his voice was drowned out when the crowd gave out a big cheer. Up above them, high on the far wall above the stage where the band had been playing, a banner was being raised with the number ten on it.

"Is it a minute til already?" Evelyn wondered.

Beni frowned at his watch. "I guess theirs is fast."

"Or yours is slow, my good son," Jonathan said. Beni shot him a look.

The master of ceremonies made his way onto the stage, his eyes glued to the watch in his hand.

Beni suddenly felt a hand on the back of his arm, so light he wasn't sure he'd felt it until he turned and saw Jemima standing beside him.

"Do you have the stones to kiss me on New Year's? In front of your wife and everybody?" she whispered.

The master of ceremonies raised his hand, and the crowd shouted in unison:

_"TEN!"_

The banner fluttered to the floor, a "nine" waiting just behind it. Beni snorted, glancing at Evelyn cautiously before almost hissing back at her, "Kiss O'Connell. He doesn't have anybody."

Jemima glanced in the direction he indicated, and her face brightened with a smug kind of approval.

"Well aren't _you_ gracious."

_"SEVEN! SIX!"_

Even though it was his own suggestion, Beni felt an uncomfortable twinge of jealousy at the expression on Jemima's face as she slipped nonchalantly closer to O'Connell. She might have been a desperate widow willing to whore herself out to anybody who'd give her attention, and he may have only met her that night, but he suddenly wasn't so keen on O'Connell kissing her, sloppy seconds be damned.

_"THREE! TWO! ONE!"_

The roar of a collective _"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"_ felt strangely numb and quiet; Jemima watched him out of the corner of her eye, a cruel and mischevious little smirk on her lips as she wrapped her arms around Rick and gave him a firm kiss. Beni shot her an even glare before taking Evelyn fiercely by the wrist and jerking her into his arms, kissing her so hard she whimpered and rubbed her mouth when he released her. She turned to him, ready to let him know she hadn't appreciated his forcible display, but he wasn't looking at her.

He was staring at Jemima Willoughby, and she was staring back. All of the sudden, she crossed the space between them, took his face in her hands, and kissed him fully, provocatively on the mouth.

Evelyn's jaw tensed. She could hardly move for the rage that was brewing up within her, a sort of anger she hardly knew she was capable of.

She didn't care if Beni kissed Jemima Willoughby. She didn't care if he kissed a cow wearing a masquerade mask. But she _did_ care that he would have the nerve to kiss anyone while she was standing right there, in plain sight of everyone who'd ever known her, who'd ever put their faith in her father's governance and made the appropriate recommendations. She could have killed him for making her and her father and anyone who'd ever worn the name Carnahan look like silly fools, kissing a scandalous twit like Jemima Willoughby for much longer than was proper, even for an inebriated New Year's party.

She was so furious, she didn't even care how it must have looked when she grabbed her husband by the arm and yanked him away with a velocity that knocked him off balance and forced him to stagger along behind her as she pulled him towards the door. He finally caught his steps and halted immediately, pulling her to a stop beside him.

"Evelyn, what the hell!" he demanded in a loud tone that somehow managed to be whiny despite his assertiveness.

She glared into his eyes with a rage that would not be reckoned with. "You wanted to leave! We're leaving!"

Beni straightened his shoulders and adjusted his suit jacket. "Fine."

Now he took hold of her wrist, dragging her out the door with unflinching callousness. She tripped over her heels and just barely managed to stay upright, doing her best to keep up her pace with him. They arrived at Beni's car and he let go of her with a petty shove, storming over to the driver's side and getting in without even bothering to get her door. Evelyn didn't care. She hurried over to the passenger side and let herself in, slamming the door shut behind her.

"What on earth is the matter with you?" she demanded before he could even shove the key into the ignition.

He turned to her animatedly. "What's the matter with _me?_ I wanted to leave fifteen minutes ago, and you said no - "

"Well if I'd known you'd be jamming your tongue down the throat of _Jemima Willoughby_ like a lonely sailor - "

"Oh, come on, Evelyn!" he said with irritable dismissiveness. "It's New Year's!"

She gave him a hard, incredulous look. "That _wasn't_ New Year's. Don't treat me like a fool."

"You're crazy._ She_ kissed _me."_

"Oh, don't give me that ridiculous line!"

He shook his head at her in disgust. "You're so petty, do you know that?"

"Oh, _I'm_ petty!"

"You don't ever want me to touch you, but I shouldn't touch anybody else - "

Evelyn's eyes narrowed. "We're married, you nitwit. You're not supposed to touch anybody else!"

"Don't call me names!"

"You're being an ass," she told him. "You don't think I can smell perfume all over you?"

"I s_aid_ don't call me names!"

" 'A drink,' my arse! Do you have any idea what you're playing around with? Those people will eat you alive and spit you back out again!"

Beni waved his hands, mocking a terrified expression. "Ooh, I'm so very scared!"

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "You know what? You should be. The people in that room hold all the power in this country and most of the world, too. Don't make the mistake of thinking you're so very irreplaceable. Lots of people can chop off fingers. You're expendable to them, and if you don't think they'll find someone they can manage easier than you, you're wrong."

Beni met her gaze with narrow, suspicious eyes. "They won't get rid of me. I am a hero."

She laughed bitterly. "A hero? You're not a hero to the Duchess of Sussex, and she'll certainly hear no arguments for it when she learns you've been scandalizing her nephew's widow."

Beni glanced down disdainfully, twitching a little in his seat. His hands curled into fists in his lap.

"Look," Evelyn sighed, "it's as simple as this. You can do whatever you want in private so long as you behave yourself in public. We've both got an image to maintain if we're going to survive. And I can pretend to be a loving wife if you can pretend to be a faithful husband."

She looked at him desperately, watching his vaguely annoyed (but mostly unreadable) face with begging eyes.

"Please tell me that sounds reasonable to you."

He glanced up at her, and she could tell by the way the corner of his mouth flinched that he was just dying for a snide retort, but found none. He sighed, rubbing his thin little moustache thoughtfully, and finally conceded with a slight nod.

Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief, settling herself into her seat. At last she felt as if there might be a shred of hope for this marriage, loveless though it was. Perhaps if they could present the image of functionality, things might actually start to work as a matter of habit.

"I was not the only one who behaved badly tonight, though," Beni said pointedly. Evelyn gave him a reluctant glance.

"Oh?" she said carefully.

He met her eyes with a dark, petty expression. "No. That is the last time you _ever_ drag me anywhere."

Evelyn fought back the urge to give him a well-deserved retort. She knew he was just grappling for the final word, and she was going to have to start making some concessions. It was expected of a loving wife, after all.

She swallowed hard, and looked at him steadily. "Yes, I'm sorry about that."

He went to start the car, but she put a gentle hand on his. He met her eyes in confusion.

"Perhaps...I think it would be best, for the correction of appearances, if we go back inside together."

Beni let out a grumbling sigh, pushing his greasy hair out of his eyes. He looked at her with a commandeering nastiness.

"And you will look like you love me."

Evelyn sighed, suddenly feeling very weary. "Desperately."


	9. so that no one could see

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_Giza Port: Cairo, 1925_

Delphine wore her sunglasses **so that no one could see** how very bloodshot and watery her eyes wore. She'd drank too much the night before, and she hadn't bothered to relieve her headache. She didn't want to. If her head was pounding, it would distract her from the sinking, nauseous feeling of being a fool.

Her uncle and Jonathan had both offered to take her to the port and see her off, but she refused them. She knew her uncle had too much to do, and couldn't afford to take the time to drop her off. And she just didn't want to ride with Jonathan. She didn't want to listen to his cheerful hints that she could always stay. She'd contrived some excuse about not wanting to have to do goodbyes twice, and promised to phone when she made it back.

Alone in the back of her uncle's car, she was able to pull out the carefully-written letter she'd hidden in her purse. She pulled it out again, holding it tightly in both hands, and staring down at it as if by sheer will, she might change the words glaring coldly back up at her.

_Beautiful Delphine,_

_You said last night that I either "want this, or I do not." Because you are young, I can excuse this kind of passionate dichotomy. But in truth, there is so much more than wanting and doing. More than anything, I should like to throw inhibitions to the wind and pretend I have nothing to risk. If I were a younger man, I might. _

_Delphine, this simply can't be done._

_People depend on me. My entire tribe's survival is dependent on my precarious relationship with the British. The safety of the British against rebel forces that would bomb the homes of their wives and children depends on me also. And also, perhaps dearest to my heart, the innocent Arabs of Cairo depend on me to offer them a fair trial for treason charges, to protect them from being sacrificed to ease British fear and paranoia. These are the responsibilities I've been given. How very blessed I am to be in a position both trusted by the British and my countrymen alike. This is nothing less than the hand of Allah._

_And I shall not turn the hand of Allah against me. It would be unwise and ungrateful. You are beautiful and daring, and my heart feels alive just to see you. But I cannot risk the safety of so many who depend on me for a feeling. This is why I must tell you, Delphine, go back to France. It would be better for both of us._

_I wanted to be the first to tell you that I am taking a wife from among my people. I am sorry if this pains you, but I truly believe this is the best course of action for everybody. She is not so beautiful and daring as you. No one is so beautiful and daring as you. But she is of my people, and she understands. I cannot afford to take risks. But you have brought to mind that perhaps I should marry. I should settle the minds of the British when I am in the presence of their women. I should settle the minds of my people that I am still a true Arab, a true Med-Jai, a true Egyptian at heart. My mother's heart breaks to see me in a Western suit. How much more it would pain her to see me with a white wife._

_You are young, and beautiful, and daring. You will find someone suitable, and someday you will see that I am right. I think of you fondly, and I cannot forget your challenge to me. "You either want this, or you do not." Were it not for this, I might not have seen just how much I needed to consider. _

_I truly wish it was as simple as wanting._

_Sincerely,  
Ardeth Bay_

Delphine wanted to crumple the letter and toss it out the window, but she didn't. She read his final line, over and over. _I wish it was as simple as wanting. _But it was as simple as wanting. It was and she knew it was, and that's why she felt so very foolish. Because if he'd wanted it - truly, truly wanted it - he would have taken the risk. She remembered the shrewd words of an older girl in her dormitory, when she was a tender freshman recently crushed by an unrequited love. _If you know only one thing about men, mon cher, know this: nothing in this world will keep them from taking something if they want it. Never waste your time throwing yourself at a man. If he wants you, he'll take you._

Ardeth could write whatever he pleased in that letter. He could invoke every bone-crushing responsibility ever placed on a man's shoulders. It didn't matter. Because as far as Delphine was concerned, he could have abbreviated it all to one line: _I simply don't want you, Delphine._

In a way, she wished he had written that. All this ridiculous waxing on and on about her beauty and daring - it was only flattery, meant to let her down easier.

He didn't want her. He simply didn't want her.

She was grateful to be going back to France. The only thing that could possibly make this situation more embarrassing would be having to stay in Cairo. She hadn't missed how very frequently he used the word "young" in his letter, and she despised how silly it made her sound. She wasn't so young...

Jonathan pulled her aside the other day and asked implicatively if there was anything he could get her for her trip. He'd been making the offer since she was sixteen, when she stopped riding with an escort. And today she was grateful for the full bottle of merlot he'd bought at her request. He'd wrapped it up in an innocent rectangular box, and made her promise to come back just as soon as she could. Her next holiday was Easter, in the middle of April. And even though it was only the beginning of January, Easter felt stiflingly close.

Carefully, she folded the letter in her lap and slipped it back into her purse.

Perhaps she'd stay in France for Easter. One of her classmates had invited her to stay with her family in Paris for Easter every year, and every year Delphine had refused. _I don't want to hurt my uncle,_ she'd say. _It would upset him if I didn't come._ But maybe she wouldn't come this year. She could give the excuse that this was her senior year, and she wouldn't get to see her friend as often anymore. Perhaps if she put off her return til summer, it wouldn't sting so much. Perhaps even by summer, she'd have found someone new to love...

The letter stayed folded in her purse, untouched but always seen. Sometimes when she went to pay for something, her fingers would brush against the wrinkled paper, and she'd see Ardeth's handsome, mysterious face in her mind's eye. She'd remember the way he took her into his strong arms and kissed her in the driveway...and then she'd think about him kissing someone else, holding someone else, some pretty, shy Arabic girl from his tribe...And she'd immediately brush the thoughts of him away before that sickening sense of foolishness crept into her stomach. But she never opened the letter again.

She never opened it again. But she never threw it out, either.


	10. confession

_Author's Note. I always feel like I should update this story in pairs, since it's contrasting these two relationships. We'll see how long I can keep up the steam for that._

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Willoughby House: Cairo, 1925_

"Would you like to hear **a confession**, darling? A 'Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned' sort of confession?"

Beni had been staring at the marvelous mosaic that covered the ceiling over the bed, frowning with jealous interest at the glinting image of a naked, golden-haired woman embracing a swan while a cloud of cherubs looked on. He blew out a trail of cigarette smoke and turned to look at Jemima curiously.

"What?"

She propped herself up on her elbow and turned to look at him, gesturing with her cigarette between her fingers.

"I said I have something to confess."

Beni looked at her for a moment before turning his attention back to the ceiling and said, "Okay."

Jemima snuffed out her cigarette in the silver ashtray on the bedside table and slid closer, leaning over him and blocking his view of the ceiling with her pretty, smirking face.

"I've been reading about you," she told him.

Beni looked into her mismatched eyes with an air of boredom. "So?"

She reached a hand to his face, and then kissed him. Her lips trailed over to his ear and she whispered, "I've been reading about you for weeks now. Ever since the papers said you were the one who obtained the bombers' confessions, I've read anything and everything about you I could find."

Beni's brow furrowed, and he glanced at the woman in the mosaic suspiciously. "Why?"

Jemima let out a sigh, kissing his neck now. "Because, darling. You positively fascinate me."

She sat up, looking into his eyes again. "Were you really a thief, right here in Cairo?"

Beni looked at her strangely. "Yep."

"And is it true about impersonating clergymen in France? Is that _really_ what landed you in the French Foreign Legion?"

He snickered to himself and nodded. It had been a long time since anyone had drudged up that time in his life. In 1919, during the first rebel outbreak, he was asked about it over and over. Everyone wanted to hear the story. But most everyone had forgotten it by now.

Everyone except Jemima, apparently.

She gave him her most devilish smile. "Am I the worst - the absolute _worst_ - jezebel you've ever heard of if I told you after I read that, I simply had to sleep with you?"

Beni looked at her curiously, a smug sense of entitlement slowly leaking into his expression and causing him to smirk.

"And do you know what else, darling? I adore that you don't take your wedding ring off. It positively exhilerates me. Now, tell me I'm not the worst jezebel you've ever heard of."

He gave her a dubious glance, and she giggled.

"Now, _really_, darling. You were hearing confessions in France. You can't possibly tell me_ I'm_ the worst you've ever heard of."

Beni smirked. He liked that vicious and unapologetic little smile always lurking in the corner of her mouth.

"A woman once told me that she was cheating on her husband with his sister."

"No!" Jemima gasped in delight. "Darling, that's marvelous. Isn't it deliciously ironic? People used to tell you their deepest sins as a matter of principle; now you've got to beat it out of them. You simply must tell me more."

But Beni shook his head, glancing at the watch he'd left lying on the bedside table. "I'm going to go."

She took his arm, gazing up at him persistently with her strange eyes. "Now wait a moment, darling, I haven't even gotten to the crux of my confession."

He snorted and sat up anyway, swinging his legs over the side of the massive bed.

"Surely you know by now there's nothing worse than leaving before a woman's reached her climax."

Beni turned and looked at her, an amused sneer on his face. "You're a slut."

Jemima raised her eyebrows in surprise, but didn't appear offended. "Actually, darling, it's quite the opposite, but that's not what I'm getting around to."

He scoffed incredulously and got out of bed, picking out his pants from the mess of clothes scattered across the floor like puzzle pieces.

"Well, now you've made me feel as if I must tell you. You're the first man I've been with since Ollie, and he was the first man I'd been with ever, and I was a perfectly loyal wife to him, even though I never meant to be. He was wealthy and older and my family was in debt, so I thought I'd marry him and do as I pleased. But he was such a good man that I simply couldn't. So darling, if I seem forward, it's from a lack of conjugal relations, not an excess of them."

Beni let out an impatient sigh. "I don't really care," he told her briskly. And then, with a note of bitterness, "But you were pretty eager to kiss O'Connell."

Jemima laughed. "Well, darling, I don't think that counts. I've kissed gobs of men. _Gobs_ of them, darling. A kiss is a trifle. But do you know what sex is?"

Beni glanced up from buttoning his shirt.

"It's a weapon, darling," she said with a mysterious little smile.

He finished buttoning his shirt and took his watch from off the side table, glancing at it again.

"But anyway," Jemima said, brushing off her last statement with a wave of her hand. "What I'd like to confess is this: as much as you fascinate me, I've asked you here for another reason entirely."

Beni glanced up at her with suspicious eyes, his fingers frozen on the cufflinks he was twisting into his shirt sleeves. She leaned forward, that same coquettish smirk on her face, but her eyes grave.

"I think some of the servants are stealing from me."

His expression immediately dropped to boredom with the weight of a scoff. "Of course they are. Look at this place."

Jemima pulled herself to a sitting position impatiently. "No, I don't mean like taking a silver fork here and there or pocketing an earring from the floor. I mean they've taken a rug off the floor, and three paintings off the walls."

Beni stared at her for a moment in surprise. "Really?"

"Really," she said, an edge creeping into her voice. "They detest me, you know. They think I only married Ollie for his money - which, of course, I _did_, but still. They've no right to steal things right out from under me."

He shrugged. "So call the police."

She gave him a little smirk and quirked an eyebrow. "I thought I'd take a slightly more effective route."

Beni met her implicative gaze with shrewd, level eyes.

"I'll give you anything you like," she said, mischief creeping into her features. "Or do any depraved little thing that enters your wicked mind."

He nearly smiled. "Alright. I want your engagement ring."

Jemima raised her eyebrows, glancing at the enormous diamond glinting bright and hard in the beams of afternoon sunlight that streamed in through the windows.

"Well," she sighed. "Aren't _you_ the ruthless one."

He did smile now.

She glanced up at him with an unreadable expression in her haphazard eyes. "I don't suppose I could negotiate you down a tad."

Beni shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "Make me an offer."

Jemima sighed thoughtfully and threw back the covers from her body. He watched with a greedy sort of delight as she got out of bed, and frowned when she picked up a silk robe from the floor and put it on.

"What's that sour look on your face for?"

Beni scowled distastefully at her robe. "I thought you were going to do something 'depraved.'"

Jemima let out a short laugh. "First off, darling, considering the fact that I've only been with two men in my whole life and you've seen considerably more women - many of whom were professionals - I must assume we have two entirely definitions of the word. Secondly, I find it hard to believe that a man who just asked for a ring worth fifteen thousand pounds would settle for the sort of thing any mildly charming university chap can talk a schoolgirl into doing."

Beni let out a dark chuckle, eyeing the ring enviously. "Did you say fifteen thousand pounds?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Yes, that's what I thought."

Jemima beckoned him to follow her to a door on the far side of the room, situated just next to the bathroom. She pulled a key from her robe and unlocked it, slipping inside. Beni went in after her.

The room was small and cramped, and every wall was lined with drawers. At the opposite end of the room, only a few feet away from them, was a built-in vanity with a tall mirror.

"What's this?"

She gave him a thin smile. "My jewelry box."

It had been years since Beni had had to steal to survive; his promotions through the ranks of Ardeth's men, funded by Cairo's tax payers, had more than covered the cost of living - which wasn't even to mention the bloated bank account he'd been given sole access to for marrying Evelyn - and it had been some time since he'd scratched a squalid existence in the streets. He didn't _have_ to steal anymore, but it was a habit and he liked it. And just standing in that likely million dollar room made his palms itch. Jemima turned her attention to a particular row of drawers and began pulling them out thoughtfully.

Curiously, Beni did the same. The first draw he opened revealed a heavy sapphire and diamond necklace that beckoned him like a provocative and experienced concubine.

"When you got married for money," he said, "you did it right."

Jemima laughed, at last finding the piece of jewelry she was looking for. She pulled out a bright and cheery gold-link necklace and held it out to him. His lip wrinkled with insult.

"Is that a joke?"

She met his eyes evenly. "Is this your pleasant way of telling me you'd like to make a counter-offer?"

Beni scoffed and pulled out the sapphire and diamond necklace he'd been lusting after earlier. She looked at it and let out a sigh, pursing her lips together thoughtfully.

"You want that," she said, not even bothering to raise it to a question. He nodded, an impish grin on his face. "That's worth more than my ring."

He shrugged. "So give me the ring."

Jemima raised an eyebrow. "You know you can't counter-offer with something more expensive."

He met her gaze with a hard, even glare. "Just how important is that shit your servants took to you?"

Her jaw tensed, and she looked from him to the necklace again. "That necklace belonged to Marie Antoinette. Everyone knows Ollie bought it for me."

But Beni was unmoved. "This is what I want for finding out who stole your furniture."

She met him in the eye. "I can still call the police, you know."

A grim smirk wheedled its way into his features. "Then call them."

Jemima watched him for a moment longer before letting out a defeated sigh. "Fine. But if I see that around your wife's neck, I'll scratch her eyes out."

Beni pocketed the necklace triumphantly. He turned and left the room, telling her over his shoulder. "I don't care what you do to my wife."

"Well I'll scratch _your_ eyes out, then."

She slipped out of the room behind him and locked the door. She turned around and faced him with a sigh, straightening her shoulders and letting her defeat slip off like a silk nightgown.

"Now that that's settled," she said, "how can I make your workspace most condusive?"

Beni looked about the bedroom incredulously. "You want to do it in here?"

Jemima gave him an easy shrug. "No, wherever you like."

"The kitchen," he told her so quickly, it gave her pause. She nodded her head and led the way out of the room. "Aren't you going to get dressed?"

She glanced over her shoulder and gave him another alluring smirk. "It's my house, isn't it?"

He let out a greasy chuckle and watched the slick, shiny fabric of her robe flutter against her legs. No wonder the servants hated her. How could anyone concentrate with their employer's self-entitled little wife gallivanting around in almost nothing at all?

"Who would you like to speak with first? The person I suspect it is?"

Beni shook his head. "No. Never the guilty one."

Jemima glanced over her shoulder at him. "Then who?"

"The person who will be most scared."

She gave him a savvy smile. "A woman."

Beni rolled his eyes. "Do you want me to be here all day? No. Never a woman, if you can help it."

Jemima stopped in her tracks, turning around to look at him curiously. "Really? Is this some sort of honor code?"

He scoffed. "Women have a higher pain tolerance."

She gave him a skeptical look. "Darling, I don't believe that for a moment, and I'm a woman myself."

Beni met her eyes with petty condescension. "Women give birth. Didn't you give birth?"

"Yes, but under a bloody ton of ether."

If it was even possible, his expression became even more smug. "That's interesting. The women who work for you did not get to use ether."

Jemima's face was marked by reluctant realization, and she conceded, continuing on down the stairs.

"Then who is the most likely to be scared?" she asked quietly.

Beni met her curious eyes with an expert's sneer. "Do you have any men with wives and children?"

She nodded.

"Little children, not adult children. People who depend on him."

Jemima considered this briefly. "Kareem's wife is due with a baby soon."

Beni smirked. "Then go and get him."

She nodded her head obediently and pointed him in the direction of the kitchen, hurrying off to find Kareem. Once she was out of earshot, Beni let out a self-satisfied chuckle and occupied himself with finding something to eat in the cupboards. He stumbled upon a basket of dates and helped himself. He was half-way done eating it when Jemima arrived with a young, confused Arab man at her side.

The man's dark eyes became quite wide and frightened when he met Beni's cold, nonchalant gaze. He sputtered something about the devil in Arabic, and Beni let out a sigh.

What transpired exactly was a mystery to Jemima. She watched Beni ask Kareem something in rushed, commanding Arabic, and saw the servant shake his head fervently, pleading out words and fast as his mouth could manage. Within about a minute, tears were streaming down Kareem's face, and Beni had finished his fig.

After a very brief silence, Kareem barely muttered two names. Beni gave him a sinister smile, and must have said something dismissive, because Kareem nearly darted out the door.

Jemima stared at him in confusion.

"What just happened?"

Beni shrugged, picking up another date. "Ali and Gafar did it. They had a debt to pay off with their landlord, and they figred you were too drunk and stupid to even notice what was gone." He took a bite of his date, waving his hands and doing an exaggerated, mocking impression of Kareem's sobs: "He tried to stop them, 'but they just would not listen!'"

But Jemima's face remained skeptical and puzzled. "But why did he tell you? What did you say to him?"

Beni swallowed a bite and shrugged. "I did not have to say anything. He knew who I was."

She shook her head. "Then why all this nonsense about pain tolerance and such? Why did you want to do it in the kitchen?"

"Because I was hungry."

"You're unbelievable."

Beni smirked at her shocked and vaguely irritated expression. "Give me back that necklace. I'm not giving you Marie Antoinette's necklace for doing something I could have done myself."

He scoffed so loudly he choked on his fig, and somehow manage to chuckle condescendingly between fits of coughing.

"You think you could have done that?"

She was taken aback. "Well, I could have asked him as well as you did. Kareem's a trustworthy fellow - "

"Kareem thinks you're a drunken idiot just as much as Ali and Gafar do. The only reason he told me anything was because I am Major Gabor."

Jemima stared into his eyes steadily, a strange expression coming over her usually charming face. She ran her tongue over her lips thoughtfully, and glanced at her bare feet on the floor for the sliver of a moment before flitting up to his with an entirely new expression. She closed the distance between them and kissed him hard. He put his fig down and busied himself with untying her robe.

"You're going to come back, aren't you?" she asked breathlessly. "They've no respect for me at all, but they'll have to start listening if you're here."


	11. with the door closed

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Carnahan Manor: Cairo, 1925_

Evelyn sat on the floor of her bathroom **with the door closed**. She sat there in a cheery pale blue robe, her knees drawn up to her chest. She rested her chin in one of her hands, while the other drifted thoughtfully over her abdomen. She sat there, breathing in the steam from the bath she needed to drain.

She rubbed her face wearily, her eyes burning as if she wanted to cry. But she didn't cry. She sat there, breathing in and out. Her throat was relaxed and free of sobs.

She kind of wanted to cry.

But she just felt strange. She felt so very, very strange.

Heavy pounding on the door against her back made her jump and cry out in surprise. She called out, "Just a minute!" and pulled herself to her feet. Before she was even fully standing up, the door opened and her husband appeared in the doorway.

"You're taking forever," he said in his nerve-grating whine. "I want to shower. Your brother already left to go get Delphine from the docks."

Evelyn nodded her head numbly. She didn't move, even when he started undressing. He looked between her and the open door, and frowned.

"What is wrong with you?"

She glanced up at him, right into his bluish confused eyes. She sucked in a little breath.

"I'm late."

Beni blinked. He stared at her for a perplexed moment before saying, "What do you mean, you're late?"

"I mean I think I'm pregnant," she said quietly.

They stared at each other, frozen in their current positions. They stared at each other for an uncomfortable moment that felt as if it lasted for minutes on end. Evelyn cleared her throat and glanced at her feet when she finally couldn't stand to look into his eyes for another second.

At last, he asked her, "How late?"

She tugged on the end of her wet hair nervously. "About a month. A little more."

He nodded his head slowly. She swallowed hard and glanced up at him again.

"Please say something," she said.

Beni shook his head, his shoulders rising and falling in a very stiff shrug. "Like what?"

Evelyn's gaze quickly fled to her feet again. "I don't know..." Cautiously, she stole a look into the gray-blue depths of his unreadable eyes again. "Are you happy?"

The corner of his mouth jerked. He shrugged again. "I don't know - "

"Well you've been ribbing me about it for weeks now," she said in something like frustration, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them. "You've thoroughly amused yourself with reminding me it could happen - "

"Are _you_ happy?" he asked evenly, turning the question on her.

She sucked in a little breath. "I'm not - I mean, it's simply not - I don't know." She looked at him hard in the eye. "Is this your first?"

"Baby?"

Evelyn winced under the word. It was the first time either of them had used it in the conversation. But she nodded her head. "Yes."

Beni sort of shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I think so."

She felt a sinking dread drop into her stomach like a stone, but she only nodded her head mechanically. "Oh."

He watched her reaction with a defensive sneer. "What?"

Evelyn blinked, frowning in confusion. "Nothing. I didn't say anything..."

"You are being judgmental because I do not know if I have other children."

She raised her eyebrows. "Well it_ is_ something people tend to know - "

"Well I don't," he told her pointedly. "So don't be a bitch about it."

Evelyn let out a sigh and leaned against the sink. "You know, if we're going to have a child together, you might find some new words to call me now and then."

Beni scoffed, returning to the task of getting undressed. He pulled his tie from his neck and tossed it on the floor. "Calm down, Evelyn. It's not like he is the first baby whose parents hate each other."

She glanced up at him in surprise. She watched him pull his cufflinks out of his sleeve cuffs and pull his dress shirt off, throwing it in a ball on the floor.

He looked at the bathtub and let out a groan. "Are you going to drain that or what?"

Evelyn turned and bent over the tub, reaching into the now lukewarm water and pulling the plug out of the drain. She was uncomfortably aware of Beni watching her, eyeing her legs and the robe that was much too short for her liking. But she ignored him.

"I don't hate you," she told him quietly. She took a deep breath, and stood up. "Do you hate me?"

He let out an irritable groan, and she turned to look at him seriously.

"I mean it," she said, her eyes narrowing at his impatient expression. "Do you _really_ hate me?"

Beni stared at her for a moment before an amused smirk settled into his homely face. He took both of her hands and told her in a false and saccharine voice:

"Oh, of course not, my dear!" he pulled her into a stiff embrace, his fingers twisting into her hair and pulling her as close as he could. "I love you so very, _very_ much. And look what our love has done! We have created a beautiful, precious, miraculous - "

"Yes, alright," Evelyn muttered.

" - new life! To have and to hold, to love and to cherish - "

"Those are wedding vows, you nitwit," she told him through gritted teeth. She wrenched herself free of his arms, pushing past him to the door. Her hand was on the doorknob, and she was about to fling it open, but a sudden thought stopped her. She turned and looked at his cruel sneer. "I'd rather not tell anyone...just yet."

His eyes narrowed a little, but his mouth retained its cruel and amused expression. "Of course. We have to make sure it sticks."

She stood there with the doorknob in her hand, and stared at him.

"Why must you be like this?" she asked.

Beni crossed his arms over his chest. He looked puzzled and exasperated. "What do you want from me, Evelyn? It's a baby. People have them every day - "

Her eyes narrowed, and her lips wrinkled up in an incredulous expression. _"Really,_ Beni? That's _really_ how you feel about this?"

"You just now told me about it - "

Evelyn huffed a frustrated sigh. "Well I don't think it's a lot to ask for you to show an iota of human emotion..."

"Oh, come _on,_ Evelyn," he whined.

She put her hands on her hips and glared up at him. He rolled his eyes and glanced at his watch on the sink.

"Fine," he grumbled. He didn't even bother to fake a smile. "I'm thrilled, my dear. I can hardly contain my excitement. This is the best news I have heard all day. I bet he will have your nose. Alright?"

She pressed her lips into a line, and let out a heavy, defeated sigh.

"Alright," she said quietly.

She slipped out of the door feeling like all of her emotions surrounded her in a foggy haze, and she stood amongst them, numb and alone. Mechanically, she crossed the room to her closet and pulled out the first dress she saw. She laid it on the bed and then went to her dresser and pulled out the necessary undergarments.

Her hair dripped heavy and wet down her back, and she let it. She knew she should be wrapping it up into curls for the night, but she just didn't care.

She didn't know what she had expected from Beni. Besides the endless teasing, he'd never seemed particularly interested in having children...but men didn't show interest in children as a rule. It wasn't considered proper or masculine. She wasn't particularly pleased with the idea of having a child with him, but they were married and she'd resigned herself to the fact that she wouldn't be having anyone else's.

She didn't want to have a child with him. But she wouldn't be having a child with anyone else. And, well...perhaps she might find something livable about this arrangement if she had a child. Maybe she'd find something to love - or at least like - about Beni. Perhaps it would stave off the growing hatred in her heart.

_I don't hate you,_ she'd told him.

But she nearly did. And maybe...Maybe, if she had a child with him, she couldn't hate him. Maybe then, no matter how angry he made her, no matter how cynical or trapped she started to feel, she could always tell herself, "It hasn't been all bad. There's the child..."

Hopefully it wouldn't look like him.

With a sigh, she got dressed and piled her damp hair into a bun. She glanced at the bathroom door once before slipping out of the room without a word.

She heard the front door open before she even made it to the first landing on the stairs. She sucked in a little breath, and decided to stop thinking Beni or having a baby. She probably should have waited to tell him until after she'd seen a doctor...

But she wasn't going to think about it. She wasn't going to think about him or having a baby.

A burst of Delphine's bright, cheery laughter floated up the stairs, and despite herself, Evelyn was smiling by the time she reached the ground level.

"Happy Easter, Evelyn!" Delphine exclaimed happily, pulling her cousin into a tight little hug. "I know it is Good Friday and I am not allowed to say it yet, but there are no nuns around. Hallelujah!" she added with a devilish giggle. "Take_ that,_ Sister Monique."

Evelyn smiled. "You're looking well, Delphine."

"Oh, I am a mess," she said, touching her disheveled hair. "I will be so happy to get into a proper bath...But look at you! Evey, you positively glow! Doesn't she, Jonathan?"

Evelyn glanced down self-consciously. "Oh, it's just a flush from the bath..."

Delphine squeezed her hand.

"Darling, it's a glow," she said with a wink.

Evelyn cleared her throat awkwardly, and murmured something about getting some tea. She wondered away from the foyer, and Delphine frowned after her. She glanced up at Jonathan with puzzled eyes, and whispered:

"What's the matter with her?"

Jonathan shrugged. "I haven't a clue."

"Hmm." She glanced up the stairs, and gave him a smile. "You'll help me with the bags now, won't you, Jonathan?"

"Darling, you don't even have to ask."

He carried her bags and she bounced up the steps ahead of him, hanging back just a little so that she could say:

"Now, you simply must tell me who is coming to Easter dinner. There's no way I can make it through these next two dreary days without knowing someone interesting is coming."

Jonathan let out a sigh as he lumbered the luggage up behind him. "Oh, I'm afraid it's only the dusty old usuals."

"What about Jemima Willoughby?"

Jonathan lugged the bag up onto the floor landing and froze, out of breath and wide-eyed. Delphine watched him glance up and down the hall fretfully before looking at her with something like excitement. He took her arm and pulled her close, whispering in her ear:

"No, certainly not her."

Delphine leaned closer in interest.

"A certain person's car has been seen parked around back there quite a bit lately."

"Who?" she gasped gleefully.

Jonathan glanced down the hall again, and whispered, "Beni's."

Delphine's jaw dropped. Instead of the usual thrill she got from gossip, she instead felt something like dread. She glanced down the hallway, towards Beni and Evelyn's room, and then back at Jonathan with wide, sad eyes.

"Does Evelyn know?"

Jonathan glanced at the luggage in his hands, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. "Come here."

They darted over to Delphine's room, and slipped inside as quickly as the clunky bags would allow. Delphine quickly shut the door and turned to Jonathan expectantly. He took her arm and pulled her gently over to the other side of the room.

"I don't know what Evelyn knows," he said quietly. "She hasn't said a word of it to me, and I don't want to bring it up."

Delphine nodded. "But is he really over there all the time?"

Jonathan shrugged. "I'm not sure. I've thought more than once about going out to see for myself, but I lose the nerve. If I saw it for myself, well...I'm just not sure I'd know how to handle it properly...and I'd probably handle it very improperly, if you know what I mean."

She let out a sigh, glancing thoughtfully at her door.

"They argue a bloody lot, though," Jonathan added.

Delphine glanced up, and they shared a look. "That's dreadful. They were only just married."

Jonathan nodded gravely.

"But surely they'll work it out," she said, a hopeful determination in her voice. "He can't really be serious in these dalliances with the likes of her. I suppose most men dally at some point..."

Jonathan opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself. Delphine sighed.

"Well, that was much more depressing than I was hoping for. Surely someone _else_ interesting is coming..."

Jonathan shrugged. "Well, I don't know if you could say he's _interesting_, necessarily, but Father's invited good General Bay."

Delphine froze, and she forced a fluttery little smile that didn't quite make it to her eyes. "Really?"

"Yes, that's what I said," Jonathan said. "A Muslim to an Easter party. Have you ever heard of such nonsense?"

"No," she said softly. Her eyes wandered towards the window, and gazed thoughtfully at a stream of sunlight. "I suppose his new wife will be in attendance..."

Jonathan frowned. She turned and met his curious eyes, and watched him shake his head in puzzlement.

"General Bay hasn't married anyone."

Delphine blinked, and despite herself, she felt a strange and hopeful feeling welling up within her.

"No?" she asked.

Jonathan shook his head. "No, darling. Single and stoic as ever, I'm afraid."


	12. promised

_Author's Note. Phew, so it's been forever for all of my stories, and I'm ready to get back to them. I took a break to do some (gasp) original writing; I've really been wanting to flesh out this story I wrote in college into a full-length novel, and I finally like...sat down and did it. It was insane. And exhausting. And I'm ready to do some writing just for fun now!_

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Carnahan Manor: Cairo, 1925_

"Father, you **promised**," Evelyn whispered when Jemima Willoughby waltzed through the front door of their home, two men one one arm and a third on the other. Her father didn't look at Evelyn, but instead focused his attention on eyeing Jemima's guests disdainfully.

"It was unavoidable, I'm afraid," he told her in a rigid tone.

"Well you might have warned me about it before now."

Lord Carnahan let out a sigh.

"Jemima Willoughby is coming," he said flatly. "She's bringing three American business associates of her late husband's, and we're going to endure them all because I've been informed it's a bloody shame that Oliver Willoughby's widow has no one with whom to celebrate Easter."

Evelyn glared up at him, undeterred. "She's going to make a laughing stock of our family."

Her father could only offer a stiff shrug, and took a sip of his drink. "Oliver Willoughby left nearly half his fortune to the city of Cairo. My hands are tied."

She huffed a sigh. He raised an eyebrow.

"So perhaps you might occupy yourself with insuring Beni's hands are tied as well."

Evelyn's brow furrowed, and she couldn't help the distasteful wrinkle that set itself in her upper lip. She glanced over in the direction of the punch bowl, where her husband had made himself comfortable and aloof.

"Easter's supposed to be a family holiday, anyway," she muttered to herself.

Lord Carnahan raised an eyebrow.

"I'm the governor," he said dryly. "The good people of Cairo are my family."

He raised his cup to his lips, and an unpleasant emotion flickered in his eyes. Evelyn followed his gaze to Jemima Willoughby, sauntering her way over to the punch bowl with her loud guests in tow.

"Now about that laughing stock," Lord Carnahan said. He glanced at Evelyn, and she let out a sigh.

With straightened shoulders and the most congenial expression she could force onto her face, she crossed the room nonchalantly to her husband. She made an awkward attempt to sidle up to him without having to touch him anymore than she had to, and he didn't even notice she was there at first. She slipped her hand under his arm, and he almost glanced at her.

Jemima approached them with her bold smirk and glittering, mismatched eyes.

"Well, if it isn't the Gabors!" she exclaimed, shaking Beni's hand and giving Evelyn a kiss on the cheek. "Happy Easter, darlings!"

Just then one of her American friends poured her a glass of punch, and she held it up in a toast.

"He is risen!" she added with a sly little smile.

"He is risen indeed. Alleluia," Evelyn responded rotely. Jemima grinned.

"At last!" she said, elbowing one of her American friends with a chuckle. "I've been with these bloody American Baptists all day, and they haven't a clue what to say to that. They stood in church like proper fools - "

"Hey, now!" one of her guests protested.

Jemima giggled, giving her friend another flirtacious nudge. "Oh, David, I wasn't meaning to offend you. I said you stood_ like_ a proper fool, not that you _were_ a proper fool - "

He eyed her in something between irritation and amusement, and raised his eyebrows.

"But I'm being terribly rude," Jemima said. "Major and Mrs. Gabor, these are my friends, Mr. Daniels, Mr. Henderson, and Mr. Burns. They've come all the way from America just to visit me and pay their respects to Ollie. Aren't they absolute dears?"

Evelyn offered the men a thin smile and told them it was a pleasure to meet them. More than anything, she wanted to pull her husband away from his mistress and keep the gawking eyes at bay, but he stood there with locked knees and gritted teeth, exchanging glances with Jemima with a kind of irritable urgency. She was as cool and nonchalant as ever, but Evelyn could feel Beni's arm flexing beneath her hand. She glanced up at his face, and wanted to shake her head.

_My God,_ she wanted to say, _do you really think that woman belongs to you? You greedy little twit, she's going to do as she pleases..._

"Well!" Jemima sighed suddenly, holding out her punch glass. Henderson immediately took it for her. "I'm in need of a powder. Might you direct me to the nearest W.C.?"

"Of course," Evelyn's voice bit in. "We'll go together. I'm in need of a little...powder myself."

Evelyn wasn't really sure what needed powdering; all she knew was that, under _no_ circumstances, would her husband and Jemima be disappearing at her father's Easter dinner. Not while there was a breath in her body, which...more and more...started to feel like the only thing left of her.

She breathed, and she tried not to hate her husband.

But she was allowed to hate his silly, obnoxious mistress, and she did. She dragged Jemima off in the direction of the first floor bathroom. Beni breathed a tense sigh, and sipped at his drink.

"So you're a major, huh?"

He glanced up at the man Jemima had indicated as David Daniels, and nodded his head.

"What kind?"

At that moment, there was almost nothing Beni could think of that he wanted to do less than contrive small talk with Jemima's stupid American friends. He'd been enduring that entire meaningless conversation for her to invent an opportunity to slip away, and he was more than a little annoyed that she'd used the worst and most obvious possible excuse. She'd glanced over her shoulder as she hurried behind Evelyn, a coy smirk on her face, and Beni's irritation had tightened to anger, because _that little bitch_.

She'd done it on purpose. She'd tantalized him with a prospect she knew she was going to withhold. And now he was stuck with these three idiots.

"I torture people," Beni told them woodenly. He took a drink of punch and left.

He didn't make it far; the dinner bell rang, and everyone drifted away from their crowds and hors d'ourves and into the Carnahan's dining room.

Every possible place was set at the table; the servants had pulled the extra chairs out of storage and dusted them off, and each glittering gold-rimmed place setting was marked by a name tag written in Delphine's delicate hand. A cheery lavendar tablecloth was spread across the table, and bright bouquets of spring flowers made up three centerpieces.

Beni found his seat and plopped down with a groan, just barely glancing up to notice Delphine across from him. She sat there numbly, her hands on her lap under the table. She sat there and gazed at the place card just next to hers, biting her lip uncertainly. Her strange nervousness somehow served to annoy him further, and he asked with a sarcastic sneer:

"You need a cigarette?"

She blinked hard like she'd just come out of a daydream, and her eyes flitted up to him in surprise.

"If you've got one," she said seriously, just above a whisper.

Beni let out a groan, but he reached into his pocket anyway. He passed her a cigarette and lit it across the table for her, and she breathed in the smoke desperately. He snorted and ignored her.

Her eyes drifted to the name card again.

Delphine had written out the cards at her uncle's insistence. _If you don't mind, my dear. Evelyn's handwriting is always so small and thin, no one can read it. _She'd suspected it was actually because Lord Carnahan didn't want Evelyn to know Jemima Willoughby was coming. But she'd written out the place cards in bright, bubbly cursive and arranged them on the table under his instruction. _You can take your liberties with seating everyone, of course. _And then he'd rattled off a mile-long list of people who, under no circumstances, should be seated near or next to or across from one another. Delphine had only paid attention to putting Beni and Jemima on opposite ends of the table.

She'd put Ardeth's card next to hers.

She knew she shouldn't have. It was a foolish thing to do, and it made her feel like a desperate schoolgirl. But she'd been given the dull task and a glass of white wine to make it endurable, and by the end of yesterday evening, she had an empty wine glass and Ardeth's name card next to hers.

She'd seen him, but she pretended that she hadn't. He was impossible to ignore, with his dark skin and tattoos. He stayed in one corner of the room, stiff and uncomfortable in his light-colored suit.

Just then, Evelyn arrived, taking her seat with a little sigh. Beni barely glanced up at her.

"How was the powder room?" he asked with a note of dry bitterness.

She might have looked back at him, but she probably hadn't. "Fine - "

She suddenly blinked in surprise, and a strange expression came over her face. She was staring up just past Delphine, and said very quietly:

"Oh. Hello."

"Hello."

His voice made Delphine's breath catch in her throat. Her face flushed hot, and she didn't turn to look at him, even though she knew it was the polite thing to do. She heard the rustle of his suit as he took his seat.

Cautiously, her eyes flitted to his.

"Miss Bertrand."

She forced a quick, polite smile. "General Bay."

At last their uncle arrived at the head of the table, and obliged the local Anglican priest to lead them all in a prayer. Delphine glanced at Ardeth while her eyes were supposed to be closed. He stared steadily down at the table, his hands on his lap. He noticed her gaze and looked up at her suddenly, and for a moment she didn't know what to do. She stared back at him unabashed before realizing that she was acting ridiculous, and bowed her head and closed her eyes again.

"Amen."

The salad was served and the table hummed to life, except around the silent enclave Delphine had made for herself. Jonathan was seated just on the other side of Evelyn, and tried desperately to keep a conversation going well into the second course before at last giving up and allowing them all to eat in the awkward quiet.

Evelyn and Beni didn't look at one another.

Delphine and Ardeth didn't look at one another.

Ham was served and Ardeth's mouth twitched nervously, distastefully. Delphine's lip quivered, and she told him in a nervous voice:

"There's a goose, too."

He barely nodded his head.

The meal dragged on and on, and all the while Delphine had wished she'd seated Ardeth anywhere else. She was a silly and spiteful girl, and he didn't want her. He hadn't wanted her and he still didn't.

They drank coffee and Lord Carnahan suggested that the men retire for cigars, which was met with hearty approval. Ardeth let out a sigh that sounded agonized to Delphine, and she felt a sympathetic twinge at the thought of him enduring the rest of this evening for a holiday he didn't even believe in.

Beni and Ardeth stood up, and Ardeth announced nonchalantly:

"I will just be a moment." He glanced at Delphine. "I forgot something in my car."

Jonathan slapped him on the shoulder. "Of course, ol' chum. But don't be too late. This crowd devours cigars like Christmas candies."

"I don't smoke," Ardeth told him. He glanced one last time at Delphine, and her heart started thumping faster. She watched him stride out of the room, and before she could stop them, the words tumbled from her mouth.

"Pardon me, for a moment..." She almost glanced at Evelyn. "I'll be back in a...moment..."

Jonathan frowned thoughtfully, but gave an easy shrug of his shoulders and looked across the table at Beni.

"Well, good son, have a smoke with us on this fine Easter Sunday?"

Beni nodded. The food and drink had improved his mood a little, but when he glanced at Evelyn, he felt a petty, lingering bitterness. He leaned over her and kissed her cheek before she could think turn her head. She tensed under his lips.

"Sorry to leave you all on your own, my love," he said with sticky sweetness. She gave him a false, distracted smile.

"Delphine will be back soon," she said.

He smirked, and walked the length of the table, in the direction of Lord Carnahan's billard room. He wasn't paying much attention to the people he passed, but a hand suddenly snaked out and snatched him by the sleeve, and a sacchrine voice declared:

"Major Gabor!"

He didn't bother to hide the contempt on his face. But Jemima smiled brightly up at him, as if he wore no such expression at all.

"Darlings, you simply must meet Major Gabor. He's the very reason I can sleep at night now," she said, mischief lurking in the corner of her mouth. She chattered on about the bombing to a few bored people Beni didn't know, and made distracted introductions. He attempted to pull his arm out of her grasp, but her hand slid down to his, and pressed a scrap of paper into it.

When at last she let him go, he stalked off without mumbling a goodbye, and glanced at the note she'd pressed into his palm so subtly.

_Meet me in 30 minutes or I'll die._

He snorted and he rolled his eyes, but a slimy smirk wheedled its way into his features. His disposition improved considerably.


	13. into the cool darkness

_Author's Note. And because I totally owe you, next chapter, also._

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Carnahan Manor: Cairo, 1925_

Delphine slipped **into the cool darkness,** a dreadful sense of deja vu taking hold of her, grasping her about the throat. She struggled to breathe and just couldn't seem to. But she kept walking. She saw him standing there, idling next to the car with nothing in his hands and making no move to get anything, and she kept walking.

He didn't look surprised to see her. He watched her cross the drive and come to stop several feet in front of him, frozen by inhibitions. She didn't want to be a fool. She was so tired, so tired of being a fool.

"Delphine."

She blinked, and swallowed hard. She stared up into his dark, mysterious gaze and desperately longed for a readable emotion.

She didn't want to be a fool.

"You wanted me to come out here," she said in a voice that wasn't nearly as certain as her words were.

He nodded his head.

She took a few steps forward, but stopped herself short again.

"Why?"

Ardeth glanced down at the gravel beneath his feet. She watched him with violet urgency, her lips trembling from the chill and anxiety.

"You didn't get married," she blurted suddenly.

His gaze jerked up to hers. He stared at her for a moment, and slowly nodded his head. "No. I did not."

"Why did you tell me you did?"

Ardeth blinked. He stared back at her, cool and even. "I did not say that I did. I said I was going to. And I _was_ going to."

She didn't even nod her head. She stood there motionlessly, trying her damndest to slow the loud thumping of her heart.

"Why didn't you?" she asked quietly.

A strange, heavy expression came over his face. He took a step forward. He said her name in a voice tight with longing. "Delphine."

She didn't know why, but she felt the hot sting of tears welling in her eyes. She glanced up and blinked and willed them not to slip down her face.

"Why didn't you?" she asked again, even more quietly.

He stood before her. He took her hands in his and she looked back at him.

"Delphine," he murmured, "you know."

She closed her eyes. Despite her best efforts, a tear slid down her cheek. She never saw that flinch in his throat, or the pain in his eyes as he watched it run a glistening trail down her face.

"Don't do this to me," she whispered through teeth gritted against a sob. "Please don't do this to me again."

His arms wrapped tightly about her; she felt his face against hers and his body against hers and even his heart, she imagined. He held her close and told her:

"Never. I will never hurt you again."

She sucked back a sob, but she wrapped her arms around his neck. They held each other in the starlight and the darkness, months and months of buried emotions surfacing all at once. He turned her face to his and he kissed her deeply. He pushed her against the car and she felt a rush of urgency electrify her whole body. She could feel him, through his suit and her thin dress. She could feel him and she wanted him.

"You can have me," she whispered when at last his lips left hers. "You can have me right now."

He stared back at her with burning eyes, and swallowed hard.

Slowly, reluctantly, he shook his head. "I will marry you first."

Disappointment, and perhaps shame, trickled in her stomach. Her lips, swollen from his kiss, trembled, and she glanced down. He took a shaking half-step back from her, his arms loosening on her body. He ran his hand through his hair, his body shaking with a kind of tightened agitation.

"We must be careful," he told her.

"I know."

His hand slid down her arm and found hers. He gave it a little squeeze, and pulled her closer to him. His cheek was against hers, and he whispered in her ear.

"I _will_ marry you," he told her. "I will take you. I must."

She breathed a frought sigh. _"Mon Dieu."_

He kissed her again, and they walked seperately into the house. She went first, and he waited probably five minutes before following after, resigning himself to the cold, inane chatter and suffocating smoke of the billard room. He struggled to tear every thought of her and her body and her lips from his head - to enter that room perfectly cool. As he came to the broad double doors, one of them opened, and Beni slipped past him, glancing up with his nervous thief's eyes.

"Pardon me, sir," he said, and darted down the hall.

Ardeth watched him scurry down the hallway and knock on the bathroom door. He frowned curiously when the door opened to him, but decided not to think anything of it, and went into the billard room.

The bathroom door shut swiftly behind Beni, but only for a moment.

"Simply everyone's using this bathroom, darling," Jemima whispered.

So they went upstairs, to one of the six abandoned guest rooms that were never used, and locked the door.

"Oh, thank God," Jemima said with a sigh, her face marked by exhaustion and annoyance. "I'm so tired of them, I could scream."

Beni snorted. "Who? The Americans?"

She found her faint reflection in the mirror of the unlit room, and pushed a curl out of her face. "I meant the women, darling. The boys aren't so bad."

"What are they doing here?" he asked suspiciously.

She raised an eyebrow. "I told you. They're visiting."

"For how long?"

Jemima let out a bored sigh and flung herself on the bed. "Oh, I don't know. Probably a few weeks. They've made a bloody long trip - "

Beni's lip wrinkled distastefully. "Are they staying with you?"

She smirked. "What kind of hostess would I be if I let America's latest oil tycoons hole up at a hotel?"

He let out a whiny groan, grumbling curses as he crossed the room and sat down on the bed next to her. She ran a hand up and down his thigh.

"Are you dreadfully cross with me now, darling?"

He glared down at her with his woeful eyes.

"What am I supposed to do for the next couple weeks?" he whined.

Jemima let out a little snort. "We'll get a hotel room."

"Make _them_ get a hotel room."

She giggled. His jaw tensed irritably.

"Oh, now,_ darling,"_ she said. "You're pouting like a child."

"I am not."

Jemima sat up, stroking the side of his mouth condescendingly. He swatted her hand away, taking her roughly by the hips and pulling her onto his lap. He could see that smug smile on her face in the soft glow of moonlight.

"You have been cruel to me tonight," he told her.

She raised her eyebrows. "Have I?"

"You went to powder your nose with Evelyn on purpose. You just wanted to be cruel to me."

Jemima gazed back at him, fighting down the smile on her face. "Perhaps I did. Are you going to be cruel to me now?"

He gave her a grim sneer. "Yes." And shoved her off of his lap. She would have fallen to the floor, but she caught her balance on the side of the bed, and stood there, gazing down at him with serious, offended eyes.

"You're not going to do anything with me now. Is that it?"

He glared back at her darkly. "What do I need you for? I have a wife."

She sighed through her teeth. "I suppose you think I'll get down on my knees and beg you sleep with me."

Beni stood up and looked her in the eye. "I don't care. If you are so desperate, you can go screw your three American friends."

He pushed past her to the door, and she told him gravely:

"Don't think I won't."

He stopped, and his hand flexed on the doorknob. He turned around and glared at her pretty, satisfied face in the darkness. He slapped her across her stupid, smirking mouth and told her:

"You won't."

Her eyes were strangely calm, but her fingers trembled as she reached up to touch her tender, swelling lips. She stared up at him, vacant of expression, and slowly nodded her head.

She gasped when he kissed her hard on her sore lips, her whole body tensing against him for a moment. She let out a relieved sigh when his mouth left hers, and willingly conceded when he pushed her back to the bed and climbed on top of her.

But for the first time - perhaps ever in her life - it occurred to Jemima Willoughby that she might in over her head.


	14. sounded uncertain

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Carnahan Manor: Cairo, 1925_

Evelyn thought the fist knocking on the door **sounded uncertain**, and she frowned at the clock in thoughtful curiosity before pulling herself from her seat and going to answer it. She left a book open in a splash of late morning sunlight on the sofa, and wondered who on earth would be coming to the door at this time on a weekday. It was too early for the mail and too late for the milk and ice. The only people who ever came to the manor wanted to see her father, and everyone knew her father was at his office at nearly eleven o'clock on a Tuesday. Beni was also at work (as far as she knew), and Jonathan was still in bed - as was anyone he associated with, she had to assume.

No one ever came to visit her.

She came to the front door and glanced through the window, catching a glimpse of a tall, broad-shouldered man obscured by the stained glass pane on the door. Cautiously, she twisted the deadbolt but kept the chain on, and opened the door as far as the chain would allow.

She squinted up at the man through a bright, white beam of sunshine, and immediately recognized the handsome face and nervous, blue-green eyes.

"Oh, um." She didn't even say hello before quickly shutting the door and pulling off the chain. She flung the door back open just as quickly, her hands shaking and color rushing to her cheeks. God, how insufferably inept was she? She could have at least told him she was going to do that -

"Sorry," she breathed, offering a quick, fluttery smile. "I wasn't expecting anybody - but it was so rude of me, just the same - "

"No problem," Rick O'Connell said easily, though he kept glancing back towards the street.

The anxious, uncomfortable look on his face made her heart beat a little faster; he was handsome, so very, very handsome...and a part of her that she knew was silly and foolish wondered if she was the reason he was acting so nervous.

She gave him a quiet smile. "Won't you come in?"

He shifted his weight. "Uh...yeah, sure. Okay."

Evelyn stepped aside and he walked into the foyer. She saw his shoulders jerk, startled, when she closed the door behind him. They glanced at each other, and her breath caught in her throat. She let his eyes wander into hers and trace over her face, his lips parted with an emotion she imagined was like longing. Her fingers twitched at her sides. For a flashing moment, she imagined wrapping her arms around his neck; she imagined kissing him and doing anything, _anything_ he wanted...

The thought made her cheeks burn, and she awkwardly cleared her throat and glanced away from him.

"Well," she said, trying not to let her voice sound too flustered, "what brings you here, Major O'Connell?"

He thrust his hands in his pockets, glancing at the floor between his boots. "Actually, I was, uh, looking for...Del - um. Miss...Bertrand?"

He said her name uncertainly, like he didn't quite know what her last name was. Evelyn forced a smile that didn't light up her eyes, and gave him a reassuring nod. She told him airily that she would fetch Delphine - he need only wait a moment - and her legs were stiff as she trudged up the stairs in search of her cousin.

Delphine. Of course.

Of course he was here to see Delphine. Who wouldn't be? Delphine with her pretty black hair and big, sometimes-violet eyes...Delphine with her flirtacious laugh and charming French accent...Of course,_ of course_ he was here to see her.

Evelyn paused on the landing, out of sight of Major O'Connell, and sucked down a sob. No._ No_. She was_ not_ this foolish. _She was not -_

"You're a married woman," she muttered to herself bitterly. "He has no interest in you and he never will. You're married, and you're..."

She couldn't breathe the word, not even to herself. But it echoed in her head and held fast there in her thoughts, as if it was trapped. _Pregnant. You're married and you're pregnant._

A strange twinge twisted in her body, and she found herself hating everything. She hated the ring on her finger and Delphine and O'Connell and Beni. _How_ she hated Beni. She hated him and his careless hands and the fact that he was allowed - entitled - to her and to her body. She hated that he had been on her and inside of her; the very thought made her seethe. How dare he break into her, again and again, where he wasn't welcome and never had been and _never_ would be. How dare he make her pregnant, when it made no difference to him. Not to him. There was no caution or thought or anything to be considered, as far as he was concerned. _I can get you pregnant, Evelyn, so why should I worry about it? It's your job. You should be thanking me. _She hated him. A womb and a good name, her father had said. She'd rather she had let them both rot than be where she was right now.

She'd rather die than have his child.

Evelyn blinked, and tried to shake away that thought. She tried to shake the cold, aching feeling deep in her stomach, poking at her and making her feel dreadfully guilty.

_You hate the child, too. You do._

"I don't," she told herself desperately.

She wouldn't hate the child. She wouldn't be that way. It wasn't his fault...it wasn't his fault at all...She still hated it. Him. Her. She still hated the child; she could feel it in her bones. She didn't want to hate him, but she did. He was a sad, living shackle, chaining her to that despicable man for the rest of her life.

She closed her eyes against the tears, hot and punishing against her eyelids. She sucked in a breath, and reminded herself that she needed to find -

"Major O'Connell?"

Evelyn heard Delphine's bright, clear voice down the stairs. She froze, and despite her conscience, leaned back just a little, and listened.

She heard them exchange an awkward hello, and then Rick said:

"I've got, uh, this for you."

She heard a rustle of paper, and then something like ripping -

"Oh, you're gonna read it right now, huh?" he said nervously.

Evelyn felt the sharp bite of jealousy, and quietly went the rest of the way up the stairs. She didn't need to hear anymore. She didn't need to think about Rick O'Connell, nervous and handsome, writing letters to Delphine. She didn't need to, and she couldn't bear to. She went on into her room and closed the door, remembering too late that her book was still downstairs in the parlor, in the sunlight. She let out a heavy sigh, and curled up on her bed. She tried to shut out Rick's words. _Oh, you're gonna read it right now, huh?_

Read _what?_

Rick O'Connell didn't have an answer to that, and wouldn't have, even if she'd asked him. He had no idea what was in the letter; he was only doing a favor for Ardeth. He stared at his boots because he felt weird watching Delphine read the letter, but he was painfully aware of her lovely smile and the hungry way her eyes traced over and over the words. He could see why Ardeth had written her, and why he was afraid to risk delivering the letter himself. Rick could see as well as anyone that Delphine was a beautiful girl; she was just so...young. And not just because she was actually young; she just seemed so naive and romantic. And Rick honestly didn't have much use for girls like that anymore. He certainly couldn't imagine going out of his way to woo one at this point in his life...

But there was Ardeth, penning letters and asking him to deliver them discretely.

Rick stole a tentative glance at Delphine, the letter still grasped between her hands and a charming, silly smile on her face. He waited a moment for her to look up at him, but she never did. So he cleared his throat:

"So, uh, have you got anything for me to...you know, take back to him?"

"Oh!" Delphine exclaimed, glancing down the hallway. "One moment, please."

He waited in the foyer while she rushed off, and found his eyes wandering up the staircase, where Evelyn had gone.

Why hadn't she come back down?

He supposed it was just as well; Ardeth wanted to keep this letter and all future ones a secret from Delphine's family, and that was more easily accomplished in private. Still...a part of him wished she would come back down, if only to slip by on her way back to the parlor. A part of him wanted to see that light, pretty dress flutter around her knees; to catch a glittering glimpse of her eyes when she smiled -

"Here it is!" Delphine said quietly, glancing up and down the hallway before holding the letter out to him.

Rick gave her a polite smile. "Alright. Have a nice day."

She smiled, broad and dreamy, and told him, "I will. Oh, I will now."

Rick held back a chuckle, and slipped back out into the warm morning.


	15. sick of this place

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_Cleopatra's Temple, a hotel: Cairo, 1925_

"I'm **sick of this place**," Beni told Jemima darkly, eyeing the taxidermied hippo head leering over the headboard with a kind of whiny disgust. He heard her let out a sigh. "When do those stupid Americans leave?"

He looked over at her with big, woeful eyes and she shrugged. "I'm not sure, darling. They haven't said, and it's impolite to ask - "

"Well it's your house, isn't it?" he spat.

Jemima let out another sigh. "I'm tired of this conversation. You know I'll not kick them out."

Beni eyed her suspiciously. "Why not? Because you are fucking them?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, _yes,_ darling. Of course. All of them at once."

She felt his gaze harden against her face, and even though she didn't want to, her whole body tightened nervously.

"Are you?" he demanded.

Jemima turned and looked him in his narrowed, angry eyes.

"No," she said firmly. "You're the only one. Are you quite satisfied?"

Beni grumbled something to himself in Hungarian and settled his head on the pillow. He brought his cigarette to his lips.

"I don't know what you like having them around for," he whined. "We have nowhere to go as long as they are there."

She let out a weary sigh. "We're here right now, aren't we?"

"I don't care. This does not count."

Jemima's hands flexed on the sheets, and she turned and glared at the side of his face.

"Why is it so important that we do this at my house, anyway?"

"I don't know," he muttered. "It's not."

"I know it's not," she said. "That's what I'm saying. I would just as soon meet at a hotel, actually. I feel guilty doing it so near my son - "

Beni let out a short laugh. "Oh, come on, Jemima, he does not know what's going on - "

"Just the same," she told him pointedly, her usually smirking eyes strangely serious. "It makes _me_ feel guilty. I don't care if he knows about it or not. His father was a good man - "

Beni's brow furrowed, and his mouth set in a dar, offended frown. He turned and looked back at her. "Well what is the matter with me?"

Jemima stared back at him blankly. Her voice was cautious and unreadable. "Why, nothing, darling."

He frowned at her a moment longer. She did her best to give him a little smile, and kissed his lips. But when their lips parted, his expression was as grim as ever. She touched the side of his face and tried to swallow the dry feeling in her throat without looking uncomfortable.

"Why don't you come up next weekend?" she said with forced nonchalance. "I'll have a little dinner party."

His lip wrinkled in disgust. "I don't want to go to a party with your stupid American friends. I have enough parties to go to."

"But I miss seeing you at the house," she said softly. "Why don't you come, and we'll all get delightfully drunk, and no one will even notice if we slip away for a few minutes too many."

She gave him a devilish smile, and Beni let out a disgruntled sigh. She kissed his face and told him, "Come on, now. You know I'm a fool over you, darling."

Beni groaned, pulling away from her. She let him slip from her grasp; she watched him get out of the bed and pull on his pants and find his shirt across the room. She watched him, and he didn't look at her.

"Fine," he said at last. "But only if you tell those Americans to leave."

Jemima sighed and sat up in bed. She looked back into his eyes evenly. "How's this. I'll find out _when_ they're leaving. Would that satisfy you?"

"Only if they're leaving soon," he retorted. Jemima let out a humorless chuckle and found her stockings on the floor next to the bed. With a sigh, she picked them up and started to get dressed, too.

"Before you know it," she said almost too softly for him to hear. Beni frowned and glanced up, but she didn't look back at him. She pretended to focus on untangling her garters and told him casually, "Also, as far as Mr. Daniels is concerned, we're not sleeping together."

Beni let out a loud, whiny sigh. She could feel him glaring at her across the room. "Oh, come on, I'm not coming over to your house to pretend we're not sleeping together. I do that all day - "

She glanced up at him seriously. "Please."

"Why?" he demanded, suspicion creeping back into his eyes and his voice.

Jemima gave him a pointed look._ "Because,"_ she said, "he's a former associate of my husband's, and like everyone else, he disapproves of the notion."

Beni crossed his arms over his chest, the unbuttoned cuffs hanging limp aroun his wrists. "What do you care what he thinks?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Who do you think is handling the business now that Ollie is gone?"

Beni frowned. "What are you doing that for? Have an accountant or somebody deal with it."

Jemima met his eyes with an air of cool regality. "I handle my own affairs, Major Gabor."

He scoffed, turning his attention back to his shirt sleeves. She glanced away from him, and buckled her garters. They didn't say another word to each other in their private room; Beni felt distinctly frustrated with her, though he wasn't sure (and didn't entirely care) why. He just wanted to be away from her and that annoying hotel room. He was finished dressing before she was, and he left abruptly, hoping she wondered whether or not he'd even attend her stupid party. She was a lot more fun before those Americans showed up, and he was quickly growing tired of her. Mistresses were supposed to be fun. That was the whole point. If he'd wanted to be told how to behave after having a mediocre time in bed, he would have just stayed home with Evelyn.

Beni drove the whole way home with white-knuckled fists on the wheel. He threw the gear into park, and slammed the door shut behind him. He strode up to the house in the blazing sunlight and was annoyed by the beads of sweat that misted over his skin in the few hundred feet between the drive and the front door. He trudged in and ignored Jonathan and Delphine on the sofa in the parlor; they might have said hello to him, but he didn't care. He stormed up the steps with no real purpose or intent; he was just aggravated and inclined to indulge aggravation. He strode right up to the door of his room, put his hand on the doorknob, and was ready to fling it open, but the deadbolt stopped him. He tried a few more times, and cursed at the knob before shouting:

"Let me in!"

He heard heavy, lumbering footsteps that weren't Evelyn's, and his whole body tensed with apprehension. Who was in his room, with his wife?_ Who_ was -

The door cracked open, and Mara scowled up at him, interrupting his thoughts and drowning out his suspicions in a wave of entirely new mysteries. It was a bright day, but the curtains were shut tight, and he was vaguely aware of Evelyn crying in the bed.

"What's going on?" he demanded. "Let me in."

Mara didn't budge. "You will not upset her."

Beni glared. _"You_ are upsetting me."

Her expression was unmoved. "I will not let you in unless you promise not to upset her."

Beni's hands flexed in fists at his side, but he begrudgingly nodded his head. "Fine."

Mara shuffled reluctantly away, allowing him barely enough space to slip into the dark room. Evelyn _was_ crying. She was curled up on her side under the sheets and covers and a few extra blankets, and sobbed. Beni turned and looked at Mara with a puzzled frown. Her thick, rough hand grasped his arm.

"Do not upset her," she said again.

Beni pulled his arm from her grip and went to the bed.

"Evelyn?"

Her shaking body froze under all of those blankets, and she carefully lifted her head from the pillow to look at him. She seemed disappointed and relieved all at once.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice darker than he meant it to be.

She swallowed hard. She told him quietly, "I lost it."

And that was all. He nodded his head slowly, numbly, and shifted his weight where he stood. He might have known that a normal husband would have gone to her - would have sat down and taken her hand or curled up there beside her and held her in his arms. He might have known that. But Beni felt stiff and uncomfortable, and he didn't want to go over to her. He didn't want to be in the room at all. He stood there in the dark, a few feet from the foot of the bed, and stared at her until she didn't want to stare at him any longer. She settled her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes.

Beni suddenly felt Mara's hand on his elbow. He felt her pulling him towards the door. He stumbled along next to her and let her usher him out, even though he was annoyed by her commanding presence and wanted to tell her she could leave. It was his room, and she could leave.

But he wanted to leave. He wanted to escape.

He hurried down the hall very quickly; so quickly that he didn't hear Evelyn whisper, before the door was even closed behind him:

"Is he gone?"

Mara went and sat next to her. She took her hand and smoothed the hair out of her face.

"Yes, my child," she said.

Evelyn let out a relieved sigh.

"I'm so glad," she whispered. "I'm so glad he's not in here anymore."

The words tripped over her sobs, and she pulled her trembling hand from Mara's and covered her mouth. The tears streamed hot down her cheeks, and Mara wiped them away. She saw Evelyn's other hand, clenched in a fist against her abdomen. _I'm so glad. I'm so glad he's not in here anymore._


	16. a nervous sip of her wine

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Carnahan Manor: Cairo, 1925_

Delphine took **a nervous sip of her wine**, and glanced out the window. She knew she wouldn't be able to spot him - not this early - but still. She hoped to. She hoped to catch a glimpse of his dark shadow, lurking in the blackness. His letter had promised that he would see her tonight; that they would slip away together and be free under the cover of darkness. He'd be on his horse, because the lights from his car would draw attention. He'd be on his horse, like a knight or prince in a fairy tale.

She smiled to herself, but quickly hid her excited expression in another sip of wine. She needed to be calm; she needed to act casual. No one else knew - no one at all - that she and Ardeth were going to see each other tonight. No one else knew, and no one else _could_ know. He had thought she was too young, or too reckless, to understand the risk of being together, but she knew. She knew. She had known all along; the world they lived in was prickled with disparity. It was no mistake that before him, there had been no other Arab men in the company of people like Delphine's uncle. She knew; she just didn't care.

He was beautiful and thoughtful and heartbreakingly honorable. She could see that, even if she _was_ young. She could see in the midst of all of those silly parties, Ardeth Bay was the only honest man in the room. The only scrupulous one. She didn't like thinking such things of the people she'd grown up around...but it was true. She could see that. Her uncle had obtained every position, every title owed him through calculated deals and agreements. He might have been a good man - and Delphine believed he _was_ a good man - but he wasn't above doing whatever was ruthlessly necessary to maintain control.

Even Jonathan...

Delphine glanced at her cousin out of the corner of her eye, cheerily eating a pork roast between gulps of scotch.

Even Jonathan, with his kind eyes and bright humor - even he was less than honorable. Delphine frowned to herself. She loved Jonathan; he was sweet and dear to her heart. Because she knew...she knew the reason everyone thought he was a remarkable failure was because he didn't have the cold-hearted ambition to pursue politics the way his father had. Jonathan wasn't brutal enough to be a good politician; but he also wasn't strong enough to stand on his own two feet, on his own convictions. He might not have had the heart (or lack of one) to become a major player in the British uppercrust, but this world had been good to him just the same, and he was willing to laze away there comfortably because it suited him.

Delphine breathed a sigh and pretended to occupy herself with her supper.

She glanced up at Beni across the table, thoughtlessly shovelling food into his mouth like at any moment, someone might snatch his plate away from him. He didn't look up at her, even when she found herself watching him curiously for a while.

"Is Evelyn not coming to dinner?" Delphine asked cautiously.

Beni jumped, his eyes flitting up to hers, wide and surprised.

"She is not feeling well," he said after a moment.

"Oh."

Delphine's eyes retreated back to her plate. If anyone might have been a good politician, it was Evelyn. It really was a shame that she was a woman. She was strong and smart and well-spoken, and she never compromised. _Never..._

Delphine glanced up at Beni again curiously, feeling a strange wavering within her at that thought. Surely Evelyn hadn't compromised when she married Beni. Surely she loved him. And surely...surely he loved her...

"Are you very happy here, Beni?" Delphine asked suddenly, probably thanks to the wine.

His eyes jerked up to hers again, confused. "What?"

"I asked if you were happy here. With Evelyn."

His face set in a puzzled frown, but Lord Carnahan stepped into the conversation with a kind of cold smoothness. "Of course he's happy. He's have never lived so well."

Beni's eyes narrowed, and he sent his father-in-law a hard look before giving a begrudging nod of agreement. He eyed Lord Carnahan pointedly as he said:

"Yes, he is right. You would not believe the conditions in the 'gutter I crawled out of.'"

Lord Carnahan choked on a sip of wine. Jonathan glanced at both of them curiously, but said nothing. She swallowed a bite of roast and looked up at Beni again.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked innocently.

Lord Carnahan scoffed. "Delphine, let's just let the man enjoy his supper." He met Beni's eyes darkly. "He's had so very few in his life."

Beni glared back at him. "I ate plenty of meals before I joined this family."

Lord Carnahan let out a dismissive sigh. "Digging half a sandwich out of a waste bin hardly counts as a meal, my good son."

Beni's hand tightened on the fork. Jonathan glanced at Delphine nervously, and sat up a little in his seat.

"Perhaps we should change the subject - "

Lord Carnahan ignored him. His sharp eyes leveled on Beni. "I don't know what business you think you're conducting every other day at Cleopatra's Temple, but you'd do well to find a less conspicuous venue."

Beni put his fork down with a clatter. "I can do what I want. I don't owe you anything."

Lord Carnahan snorted. "Oh, please. How is it you can even say such a thing with a straight face?"

"You can go to hell."

Delphine bit back a gasp, glancing at the clock desperately. She felt more than saw Jonathan tense and shift in his seat; when she glanced at him, she saw he was focused intently on his empty plate.

"I'll not be spoken to like that in my own house."

Beni shoved his plate forward like a petulant child and got out of his seat.

"Fine," he snapped. "I am leaving."

Lord Carnahan stood up, too. "You're not going anywhere."

They stood there and glared at one another. Delphine glanced at Jonathan, but he could only stare back helplessly. She bit her lip and tried to imagine what Evelyn would do if she was there. Evelyn always was so good at sorting out moments like this...

"Uncle," she said carefully. "Are you sure this isn't a conversation you'd rather be having in private - "

"It's been had in private," Lord Carnahan said darkly. "On more than one occasion. Not to worry, though, dear, there's simply no shaming Major Gabor. Try as one might."

Beni pointed an accusatory finger at him. "This whole thing was_ your_ idea."

Lord Carnahan threw up his hands. "'Oh, what I've learned through blood and tears.'"

Jonathan winced and told his scotch, "He's quoting _Antigone_ now. That's...well. That's promising..."

Delphine glanced at him nervously.

"I've run out of ways to coax you into behaving like a human being," Lord Carnahan said tersely.

Beni sneered. He thrust his hands in his pockets and met his cold, gray eyes with a kind of grim smugness.

"Then you are simply not creative enough,_ Papa."_

Lord Carnahan's eyes flashed. "You can save that sort of endearment for your mother's pimp, Major Gabor. If you're going to treat this like a business transaction, you'll call me sir, like a good lad, or I'll have you wiped off the face of this earth."

Jonathan let out a quiet, shaking whistle. Delphine turned and looked at him, her trembling hand hovering over his arm. He reached over and took it before leaning close enough to whisper:

"Let's run off before anyone's the wiser."

"Of course that is how you are," Beni spat, crossing his arms over his chest and looking distinctly like he was pouting. "That is how all you English are. So polite until you do not need us anymore. Then you think you can just order us around. Just look at how you treat Ardeth Bay. I should have known you would treat me the same."

Delphine froze at the mention of Ardeth's name. And even though Jonathan was attempting to gently pull her out of her seat and away from the table, she found herself rendered to that spot. Ardeth's name felt like an out-of-place piece of a jigsaw puzzle in this conversation, and she had to know what Beni meant by invoking it at all.

Lord Carnahan let out a disgusted sigh, shaking his head. "You snivelling little dolt. You can leave General Bay out of this. He's not married to my daughter, and he bloody well isn't meeting Oliver Willoughby's widow in hotels."

Beni attempted a casual scoff, though his eyes were marked by an expression like surprise, as if he wasn't aware in the least that his affair with Jemima was common gossip.

"He knows his place," Lord Carnahan added pointedly. "Perhaps it's time you learned yours."

Delphine let Jonathan lead her away, feeling numb. She didn't know what to think of the evening that had just transpired - and she didn't want to think about it. Her whole body shook, and she was relieved when Jonathan offered her a cigarette. Her fingers flexed at her sides while he pulled out a silver cigarette case and selected one for her. She took it gratefully and breathed in the smoke like it was oxygen.

"Shall we have a smoke in the den?" Jonathan offered.

She shook her head and said something about wanting to get some fresh air - alone. He seemed disappointed, but Delphine couldn't risk him being outside when Ardeth showed up.

Ardeth, who knew his place.

She shivered at the things her uncle might say to him if he discovered Ardeth wasn't minding his place so well in society after all...

If only Evelyn had been there to stop it. She would have been able to. Evelyn always knew just how. Lord Carnahan was always so hard on Evelyn, but that was because he loved her best. Delphine had always been able to see that. He was affectionate with her because she looked like his sister, and he put up with Jonathan because in spite of his laziness, he was dreadfully charming. But Lord Carnahan loved Evelyn. He loved her more than anyone.

That was probably why he was being so cruel to Beni. Lord Carnahan was known to have a sharp tongue with most everyone, but in all her years under his roof, Delphine had never known (or been told) of a time when he'd called someone's mother a whore in the midst of an argument.

Delphine blinked, sucking on the end of her cigarette anxiously. She didn't want to think about this. Supper had been a disaster, and the only thing worse than actually suffering the thing was reliving it.

She shook her head and tried to fill it with the cool night air instead of those uncomfortable memories. She closed her eyes against the images of her uncle and Beni. She closed her eyes and focused on the sounds outside. She focused on the breeze and the rustle of leaves, and the quiet steady plodding of horse's hooves.

Delphine breathed a relieved smile and opened her eyes. She saw him coming in the moonlight, clad entirely in black. She saw him coming like a hero in a story, and dropped her cigarette on the ground, snuffing it out with her toe as she stood up.

He slowed his horse to a stop and swung off its back. He waited there for her in the shadows near the hedge, and she crossed the yard to him quickly, urgently. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"Here you are," she whispered. "I thought you'd never come."

He cupped her face in his hand, and brushed his thumb over her cheek. His brow furrowed in concern when he looked into her eyes. "Is everything alright?"

Delphine let out a sigh. "We just had the most horrible dinner...But I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. You're here."

"I'm here," he murmured, pulling her into his arms and holding her close against his chest. She breathed in the smell of his skin and closed her eyes.

The painful tension of the dinner melted away, and she was with him. She held him close and forgot about it - about all of it. That horrible world belonged to her uncle and Beni and even Jonathan; it belonged to people who were unscrupulous and didn't mind, so long as it served a purpose. So long as they were happy.

But she was_ here._ She was with Ardeth. And that vile, white-washed world wouldn't, _couldn't_ touch her.

This was her place.


	17. evy

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Carnahan Manor: Cairo, 1925_

"**evy**?" Jonathan said just loud enough to be heard through the door, giving a cautious knock. He stood there for what seemed like a very long time, glancing up and down the hallway uneasily. He wasn't sure what was transpiring downstairs between Beni and his father, and he was acutely aware that Delphine was _still_ outside, but he knew he couldn't be in that dining room any longer - and that Delphine wanted to be alone.

After a while, the door opened, and Evelyn stood there in front of him in her nightgown. Her dark hair was matted against her head and neck, and her face was desperately pale. Jonathan let out a sigh, his face immediately set with a sympathetic expression. He wasn't one to miss the way her legs trembled where she stood.

"Is everything alright, old mum?" he asked.

She was barely able to force a smile. "Fine."

Jonathan studied her under an incredulous brow, and carefully stepped inside. "Just the same, why don't we get you back in bed - "

Evelyn didn't argue with him - which, as far as Jonathan was concerned, was further indication that she wasn't doing well at all - and took slow, shaking steps across the room and back to her bed. He helped her under the covers and sat down next to her on the bed.

"You're _sure_ you're alright?"

She nodded. Her eyes were glazed with tears but strangely earnest when she looked at him. "It's just a little bug."

He smiled and patted her leg. "Well, alright then."

"How was dinner?" Evelyn asked, politely disinterested.

Jonathan scoffed. "Grim, love. I'm afraid to say you've missed a bit of a row..."

Evelyn heaved a weary sigh, her jaw tightening with irritation. She closed her eyes against frustrated tears.

"What's he done this time?" she demanded bitterly.

Jonathan's throat jerked. He patted her leg again. "Oh, let's not fret ourselves over that - "

"Jonathan," her voice cut in sharply. She opened her eyes and gave him a pointed look. "What's he done?"

He let out a sigh, reaching a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. "Just...the usual. Frequenting hotels a wee bit_ too_ frequently, I'm afraid..."

"With Jemima Willoughby."

Jonathan glanced at his hands in his lap.

"Yes," he said after a moment.

Evelyn sighed. She tugged her fingers through her hair and said off-handedly, "Well, it's a bloody shame he's not her problem instead of mine. They seem to be very happy together."

Jonathan took her hand and gave it a squeeze. She was embarrassed by how obvious her bitterness was; she could see the blue-colored pain of pity in his eyes.

"It's going to get better, old mum," he told her with a kind of blind sincerity. "It is. Just watch."

Evelyn wasn't convinced, but she forced a smile for him anyway. She couldn't imagine how this situation would ever improve, but the earnest look in her brother's eyes gave her a sense of hope, and a kind of calm fell over her body. She stopped trembling.

"Well," Jonathan said with a sad smile, "I'd better let you rest. Sleep the bugs away, I always say."

Evelyn laughed. "I've never heard you say that."

His brow furrowed in feigned severity. "Of course you have, love. It's what I _always_ say."

He stood up and kissed her forehead. "I just hope it isn't catching."

The soft traces of a smile faded from her face, and she swallowed hard. She looked at him, very grave, and told him, "No. It's not catching at all."

Jonathan's brow furrowed, and he started to ask her what she meant by that before quickly stopping himself. He gave her the easiest smile he could force, and told her good night. Evelyn smiled back at him in her sad, quiet way until at last he crossed the room, and the door closed behind him. She sighed, and crumbled against her pillow. She tried for hours, perhaps, to fall asleep, but she couldn't. She wasn't tired. Her body was weak and shaking, and her abdomen was very sore...but she wasn't tired. She'd spent enough time in this bed trying to sleep, and she didn't want to anymore.

She started to sit up, but just as she was about to swing her legs off of the bed, she heard a hand twist the doorknob. Her stomach dropped with dread, and she quickly crawled under the blankets again, closing her eyes tightly. She held her breath as she listened to Beni fumble his way about the room in the dark, muttering to himself the entire time.

She heard him throw his clothes on the floor in disgruntled balls, and her teeth clenched. She hated his carelessness with everything. He'd spent half his life wearing the same clothes over and over again until they'd gone threadbare; now he had more clothes than he knew what to do with, and someone else to wash and press them, too, and it never even occurred to him that he might get a little more wear out of this suit or that pair of slacks. It never occurred to him to hang his clothes back up and get another use out of a good press.

She let out a sigh, and rolled over on her side.

"Are you still up?" he asked, not even bothering to whisper.

Evelyn laid there quietly for a moment, seriously considering the idea of faking it. But he probably could tell she was awake. She sighed again. "Yes..."

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes just as he turned on the bedside lamp. She let out a groan and quickly shut her eyes against the painful light. She heard him crawl into bed and breathe an irritable scoff.

"Your father is crazy," he said darkly.

Evelyn sighed. She reached a weary hand to her forehead and rubbed it absentmindedly. "I'm really in no mood for this conversation..."

She could feel his beady, impatient eyes against her face. "Do you know what he said to me?"

"No -"

"Well, he is an ass," Beni spat, turning off the light with an emphatic snap. Evelyn blinked hard, suddenly consumed by the blackness of the room and the creaking of the mattress as her husband turned to face her.

"I don't want to talk about this," she told him calmly.

He let out a groan. "Evelyn," he whined, "you are my wife. You are supposed to listen to me..."

She sighed, turning to face him in the darkness. "Perhaps you've forgotten, but I went through a rather traumatic event today, and you're the only one who knows."

Beni scoffed. Her stomach tightened at the noise. "Your stupid maid seemed to have a good idea of what was going on."

"Her name's Mara, and she isn't stupid. She presses your clothes and makes your meals every day and the least you could do is be kind to her."

She could feel his eyes narrowing in a disgruntled expression against her face. "Is that the 'traumatic event'? Me not being nice to your maid?"

Evelyn let out an impatient sigh. "You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about."

To her surprise, he laid there, perfectly quiet. She could sense (more than she could see) that he wasn't looking at her; that he'd turned his attention to the ceiling or the wall or the window or anything at all that wasn't her. Evelyn swallowed uncomfortably and fidgeted; she wanted to roll over on her other side, but she was afraid of what he might think she was saying to him with that motion.

"Are you alright," he almost asked, his voice a kind of forced grumble that never raised itself to a question. She felt a sharp pain at his tone, and got the distinct feeling he was only asking because it had recently occurred to him that he ought to.

She ran her tongue over her lips and stared up at the ceiling. "Yes."

"Are you going to...you know...see a doctor or something?" he threw his words down clumbsily, filling the air with a question that he clearly wasn't certain belonged in the conversation.

Evelyn could tell he didn't want to be talking about this, but she rewarded his effort (half-hearted and awkward though it was), by gently telling him:

"No, I don't think so. There's really no need. It all...leaves...in a matter of a few days."

"Oh."

She shifted onto her back, and she heard him do the same after a moment, too. They laid there, side-by-side, staring up at the moonlight on the ceiling. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, now, and she could see him out of the corner of her eye. She could see his hands folded on his chest, and his thumbs twiddling nervously together.

She didn't know what to make of it.

She laid there so still - so very still - as tense and nervous as the nights when they slept together. As tense and nervous as the night when that child had been conceived. He had been a perfect stranger on top of her and was a perfect stranger beside her, and yet...Yet there it had happened, suddenly. Painfully. She'd stood there horrified and frozen by the staggering amount of blood. Something,_ someone_ that was living was now dead. There'd been so much blood.

Evelyn closed her eyes against the memory and fought back the sickness within her. _Miscarriages happen all the time. They happen _all_ the time,_ she told herself. But she felt guilty just the same, hating that poor little thing that had died within her. She felt guilty, as if hating him had killed him.

There really was no telling if it was a him or her. It was too early yet.

There'd been so much blood.

She sucked in a deep breath and turned on her side to face Beni again. His breath was slow and measured, and she wondered for a moment if he was asleep. She wanted to ask if he was angry with her. She wanted to ask if he thought it was her fault, or if he even cared that it had happened. She wanted to demand a reaction from him, but she didn't know how. She hated that he was so dreadfully quiet, and yet the thought of hearing him lament it in his whiny voice made her spine tingle. She hated that he hadn't offered to comfort her, but she didn't want his arms around her or his hands on her or to even feel his presence in the room. She didn't want him. She didn't want his child and she wasn't sorry over the less of it, even if realizing that made her feel sick with guilt.

There'd just been so much blood...

And there would be more blood, Mara had told her gently. It would take a few days. And there would be more blood.

"I'd like to be...careful to avoid another," she said, just barely above a murmur. She wasn't entirely sure he could hear her, and a part of her hadn't wanted him to hear her.

But he breathed a heavy sigh, and she knew he had heard.

"Come on, Evelyn. You are my wife. You are the only person I do not have to worry about that with."

Evelyn's hands tightened into fists. She struggled to remain calm in the face of his whiny selfishness.

_"Please_ be sensitive to this," she said in a tone that teetered towards demanding.

Beni huffed a sigh, opening his eyes and turning to glare at her in the darkness. "Why?"

She balked. "I think the_ least_ you can do is be sensitive - "

"I mean why do you want to keep from getting pregnant?" he asked impatiently. "Are you afraid of losing another baby?"

"Well, there_ is_ that side of it - "

He wasn't even listening to her. His wide eyes beseeched her in the faint moonlight. "Or do you just not want to have a baby with me at all?"

Evelyn sucked in a little breath. She felt numb and cold, and for a few moments her mouth gaped for the want of words. She hadn't expected him to be so astute on the matter. He really wasn't as clever as he seemed to think he was, and usually, he was too self-centered to notice nuances in other people, least of all her.

But he was an interrogator. And he was paranoid. And she supposed he might actually be good at his job in addition to having a penchant for hurting people.

She let out a nervous sigh, and told him as carefully as she could, "I've just been through a traumatic experience. I'm only asking that you be sensitive to that."

Beni groaned. "Well what about me? It was my baby, too."

Evelyn's eyes narrowed. "Oh, please. You never gave the slightest inclination of caring about it - "

"Hey! I cared - "

"You did not," she retorted. "You didn't care when I told you I was pregnant, and you didn't care when I told you I lost it. Stop this nonsense."

He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. "I cannot believe you would try and tell me I don't care about my own child."

"Stop," she told him tersely.

"How can you be so cold to me?" he demanded in his horrible, high-pitched whine. "And how can you dare to deny me another child?"

Evelyn blinked hard at the angry tears flooding her eyes. Her fingers twisted around the sheets, and she had to consciously fight the urge not to hit him.

"I went through something today," she told him through clenched teeth. "I actually went through it. It was painful and terrible. Stop trying to use it against me._ I_ don't want to be pregnant again."

"Well what about me?" he threw back at her.

"I don't bloody care."

She sensed his body tense next to hers, and she held her breath. She was certain for a moment that he was going to hit her, or shove her, and she braced herself for his hard, cruel hands. But he didn't move. After a moment he told her stubbornly over his shoulder:

"Well, _I_ want another one."

Evelyn snorted bitterly. The retort was there, burning on the tip of her tongue. _You only want another one because I don't_, she wanted so desperately to throw back at him. But she lost her nerve, right before she could form the words. She lost the nerve...or maybe a stroke of clarity dawned on her. Arguing with him would only make matters worse; he was bound to become more insufferable on a topic he'd previously been entirely apathetic to. So she let out a sigh and closed her eyes.

Instead, she told him, "Then we'll discuss that when the time comes."

A moment later, the space between them was filled with his snoring.


	18. tried to appear comfortable

_Author's Note: So pretty much, I've been dying to write this chapter for practically the entire story. And now, finally, the time has arrived for this moment, and I'm so glad to get to put it out there. So, enjoy._

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Willoughby House: Cairo, 1925_

Beni leaned back against the overstuffed chair and **tried to appear comfortable** in the midst of Jemima's American house guests, but he simply couldn't stop fidgeting. He swirled the ice around in his drink and kept glancing at his watch, but the Americans barely noticed. They were all on their third or fourth drinks, and laughing obnoxiously over some inside joke. Jemima sat in the chair across from him and giggled, too, even though she was still nursing her first brandy and not even remotely drunk, as far as Beni could tell. He glanced up at her with narrowed, irritable eyes, and her forced smile faded. She raised her eyebrows obviously, and her gaze urged him to at least _try_ to enjoy himself. But he couldn't. The only people Beni hated more than his stodgy British in-laws were Americans, and these three were the pinnacle of everything he'd come to hate about the New World.

He hated that they all dressed like stupid cowboys. Well, mainly the blond one. But the other two didn't exactly dress like money, either. And Beni didn't see any use for people who pretended not to have wealth when they did. According to Jemima, they were three lucky bastards who'd happened upon an oil reserve on Daniels' Texas homestead. They'd grown up together in the same dusty little town, and Daniels was getting ready to sell the ranch because his family had run themselves into debt. She'd told Beni this with a kind of soft affection, probably because her family couldn't balance a bank account, either. People like that always thought they were their own special kind of destitute, but Beni didn't have any patience oor sympathy for rich people who couldn't stay rich. It wasn't that hard to stay wealthy; it wasn't that hard to hang on to money. Anyone who'd ever had to scrounge for their living knew a thing or two about saving what they had. Beni knew. And he thought people like Jemima's family, people like Daniels, were just coddled stupid by wealth.

Anyone who'd ever lived on the streets knew that money ran out.

Money runs out. Beni knew.

Jemima had done the one thing she knew how to do, and got on her back for some rich old bastard willing to take care of her. And she thought she was a_ real_ martyr over it. She seemed to think she was very wise and shrewd because of it, too. As if she'd invented the notion of playing to an old man's lust and vanity. And now she thought she was even more impressive, a Cleopatra among women, because she'd taken over Oliver's business and claimed to be running it herself. Beni wasn't impressed. She was a needy shell of a woman who could barely keep her household together without him around to scare her servants into behaving; there was no way she could manage her late husband's business, whatever on earth it was.

"I mean, I just can't believe this place," the one called Henderson said suddenly, his eyes wide and fascinated. "I know I been sayin' it all week - what's it been we been here? Two weeks?"

"Almost three," Beni told him darkly.

Henderson laughed congenially; Daniels frowned. Beni could feel Jemima giving him an obvious glare, but he ignored her.

"Shoot, I lost track 'a time," Henderson said in his good-natured way. "Anyways, I just can't get over this place. It's like a palace. Did ol' Oliver do this all himself?"

Jemima smiled politely. Burns gave Henderson a nudge. "Gabe, she's told us pro'lly a dozen times. The house was already built. He had the ceilings done."

"Oh, right," Henderson said. "Well the ceilings're what's so impressive. Makes it like a palace."

"Thank you," Jemima said. "Ollie would have been pleased to hear that."

Burns glanced up at the ceiling thoughtfully. His gaze flitted to Jemima's with a kind of anxious energy, and his voice was uncertain when he said, "I-I take it Mr. Willoughby was a big fan of Greek mythology."

She smiled, letting out a quiet, nostalgic chuckle. "Oh, yes. Greek mythology, Roman mythology. He was classically educated, you know. He could read Greek and Latin and all of it. He said all the time before I had Lionel, he wanted him to be classically educated, too. And I'd say to him, 'Darling, let's let the child be born first, and perhaps let's entertain the notion that he might be a girl and have no use for Greek or Latin, anyway...'" She sighed, her fingers tightening around her drink thoughtfully. She stared into the brandy and blinked hard.

"It's a terrible shame he never got to see Lionel," Henderson said. His voice was too matter-of-fact to be comforting, but the sentiment was there just the same, and Jemima offered him a sad smile in return.

"It is a shame," she said. "It's very much a shame. But you know, I'm so very happy to have Lionel, even without Ollie. He was such a good man, and someday Lionel will be proud to know Ollie was his father. I think every boy should be proud of his father. Don't you, Major Gabor?"

Beni startled at the sound of his name, suddenly jerked back into a conversation that had previously been boring him. He frowned at her in confusion.

"What?"

"I said I think every boy should be proud of his father."

Beni snorted a took a drink from his cup. "What is to be proud of? Any fool with a working prick can be a father."

Daniels glared darkly at him. "Is that the way folks talk in front of ladies in the shithole of a country you come from?"

Jemima held up her hands. "It's quite alright, David - "

"It ain't alright," Daniels retorted. "What'd you invite this rude son of a - this rude...sourpuss for anyways, Jem? It'd be a real nice party if he wasn't here."

Beni swallowed the last of his drink. "I was just thinking the same thing about you."

Daniels jumped to his feet, his hand ready and flexing against the holster on his hip. "You got somethin' to say to me?"

Beni eyed the pistol in Daniels' holster and swallowed uneasily. "No..."

Jemima stood up, taking a careful step between the two men. "There's really no need for this, David. Major Gabor is my guest, and I'd appreciate it if we could all be hospitable to him. Do you know, he's the man who found the rebels who killed Ollie?"

Daniels' incredulous eyes flitted away from hers and looked Beni over. His lip wrinkled, and he said evenly, "That right?"

"Yep," Beni muttered nervously.

Daniels' eyes narrowed skeptically for a moment before he took a step past Jemima and stuck out his hand. Beni frowned at it in confusion, clutching his empty glass a little more anxiously.

"Well you gotta at least let me shake your hand," Daniels said. "Them bastards killed Oliver deserve to die."

"They're already dead," Beni said evenly, grasping Daniels' hand in a quick, nervous shake. He saw Daniels glance at his hands, and his brow furrowed curiously.

"You married?"

Beni met his unreadable eyes. "Yes."

"Where's your wife?"

"You met her," Jemima twittered. "At Easter, remember? We were at her father's house - "

"I didn't ask _who_ she was," Daniels said sharply. "I asked _where_ she was."

Jemima sucked back a little breath, and started to remind him that that was a rude question, but Beni shifted stiffly in his seat and told Daniels with pointed words:

"She is not feeling well."

Daniels raised his eyebrows. "You come over to women's houses a lot when your wife ain't feelin' well?"

"David," Jemima said sharply. He turned and looked at her, a strange and possibly suspicious expression on his face.

"I'm just askin', Jem."

"Well don't," she said. "It's rude."

Daniels crossed his arms over his chest, casting a glance at Beni again. "I'm just sayin' it's funny is all."

"It isn't funny," Jemima said with a kind of threatening evenness. "Beni and Evelyn are over here all the time. Evelyn and I are very close. There's nothing funny at all about Beni coming without her to a party."

Daniels eyed her apprehensively for another moment before making his way back over to his seat on the other side of the room. Beni breathed a relieved sigh in spite of himself, and went to take a sip of his drink only to discover it was empty.

"Oh, darling, let me get that for you," Jemima said, crossing the room to him in a few quick strides and nearly snatching the glass out of his hand. "Would you like another vodka?"

He nodded his head, and she gave him a little tight-lipped smile.

"I should have brought the vodka out for you, but I just didn't think of it. I have some in the kitchen. I'll be back in a jiffy."

Beni nodded his head, and she slipped out of the room as briskly as she could without looking uncomfortable. Beni sighed and pretended to ignore the distrustful way Daniels was eyeing him.

Henderson let out a whistle. "So you say these are all Greek legends or somethin', Bernard?"

Beni glanced up to see Henderson was leaning back in his seat, staring intently at the ceiling. Burns nodded his head. "Yes, at least...the ones I've seen - "

"So what's this one?"

Burns turned and looked up, and Beni, bored, did the same.

"Oh, you know that one, Gabe," Burns said. "It's Theseus killing the minotaur - "

"Minotaur," Henderson said, trying the word out on his tongue. "That's that bull-headed thing?"

"Yes - "

"Huh."

Daniels let out a sigh, his back cracking as he arched it and stretched his arms over his head. "They got one 'a this naked broad all tangled up with a swan. What's that about?"

Beni's brow furrowed, and his stomach tightened up angrily within him. He sat up slowly, his glare leveling against Daniels in furious disbelief. He could hardly move, and was rendered deaf to Burns' self-conscious explanation of Leda and the swan. Daniels kept gawking up at the ceiling, oblivious to Beni's wide eyes. Oblivious to the rage that had taken him and made horrible, painful images dance so tantalizing in his head. Beni swallowed hard. He couldn't believe it.

The stupid bastard hadn't even done it on purpose.

Beni would have thought, between his suspicious glares and distrustful demeanor, that Daniels had baited him. But the man kept staring up at the ceiling like they were discussing the weather. Like the mosaic he was asking about could be found in the library or a spare bathroom or_ anywhere_ other than Jemima's bedroom.

Without a word, Beni stood up and strode out of the room. He heard Daniels make a crack about his rush to get to the nearest bathroom, but he ignored him. Fuck Daniels. Fuck him and his stupid friends and this dinner. Fuck it all.

And fuck Jemima Willoughby.

Beni stormed through the dining room and threw open the kitchen door. It banged against the wall and Jemima let out a surprised little, "Oh!"

She whirled around and stared at him with her bright eyes. She held his glass in one hand and the bottle of vodka in the other.

"I was just about to bring this to you," she said.

He strode over to her and ripped the glass from her hands. She frowned at him in the brief moment before he flung it just a little too close to her. It barely missed hitting her shoulder and shattered on the floor. Her mouth gaped in shock, and her eyes glared at him.

"What on earth is the matter with you?"

"You!" he said, wagging an accusatory finger at her. "I'm going to kill you!"

Jemima shook her head, taking a cautious side-step towards the door. "Kill me? What's gotten into you? Have you drunk too much?"

He started towards her, but she held up the vodka bottle like a weapon. She stared at him with wild, desperate eyes.

"You tell me what you're so upset about!"

"You know what I'm upset about!" he shouted in his high-pitched screetch. Jemima winced, glancing nervously at the door.

"For God's sake, keep your voice down - "

"You're fucking him!" Beni yelled, even louder than before. "That goddamn stupid American. You're fucking him."

Jemima bit her lip and tried to take another little step, but he grabbed her by the wrist and pushed her against the nearest wall.

"You don't know what you're talking about," she said in a rushed, shaking voice.

"I know exactly what I am talking about!" he shouted in her face. "You're fucking him."

Jemima sucked in a little breath, glancing nervously between him and the door. She looked up at him with her wide, mismatched eyes, so very desperate and glazed. Her hands wrung the neck of the vodka bottle.

"Please let me explain," she said quietly. "Please."

His eyes narrowed. "Fine."

She swallowed hard, glancing up at him plaintively again. "And please let go of me."

"No."

"You're hurting me."

"I don't care."

Jemima pressed her lips together and glanced at the door again. "I can't go back in there with bruises."

"Why?" Beni spat. "Because your precious American will notice?"

She looked up at him seriously. "Yes. And I'd rather not have to explain this to him."

Beni gave her a rough shove against the wall and took a step back. Jemima ran her hand through her hair, and rubbed her shoulder absentmindedly.

"I'm having a baby," she whispered, her eyes flitting nervously around him for a moment before at last landing on his gaze. "I found out just before Easter."

Beni let out an impatient sigh. She shook her head at him, seeming remotely disgusted by his expression.

"So congratulations, darling," she said dryly.

Beni scoffed. Jemima let out a sigh.

"I didn't know what else to do," she whispered, her eyes filled with earnest desperation. "Ollie's family would have cut me off from everything - they might have taken Lionel from me - "

"You could have gotten rid of it," he told her darkly.

The color left Jemima's face, and a hot, angry emotion made her breath quicken and her eyes burn.

"Because you don't have any children," she said with barely-maintained calm, "I'm going to forgive that horrid suggestion, and pretend you never said it."

Beni let out a disgruntled sigh. "Well you don't know it is going to stick. Evelyn just lost one last week - "

Jemima gasped, her lips trembling and a pitying expression taking over her face. "I didn't know Evelyn was pregnant..."

Beni glared at her impatiently. "Who cares if she was pregnant?"

She stared at him in something like horror for a moment before blinking hard a few times and attempting to shake off her bewilderment.

"I didn't know what else to do," she said again. She gazed up at him, beseeching the last shreds of his person she thought of as endearing. "I told him its his. He's a good man, and he's excited about it. We're going to get married. And he has money."

Beni snorted, glancing down at her abdomen with a kind of detached disgust. She ran her tongue over her lips.

"He's good with Lionel," she said, pathetically desperate.

Beni scoffed. "Lionel is a baby. Anybody is good with him."

"He treats him like one of his own."

"That's funny," Beni said with a dark, bitter laugh. "Since he does not have any of his own."

She blinked hard, and wouldn't quite look at him. "I'm going to America with him. He wants the baby to be a citizen."

Beni's lip wrinkled, and he whined, "Oh, come on. You are going to make my child be an American?"

"He won't be your child," Jemima told him, her voice airy and resolved. "That's the entire point. He'll never have anything to do with you, and no one will ever know the scandal we've caused."

Beni glanced at the door distastefully. "You could have at least picked the smart one."

She studied his face with a sort of empty shrewdness in her eyes.

"I decided to go with the richest one," she returned coolly. He turned back to her, and they watched each other with expressions neither of them could quite decipher.

"I knew you couldn't claim him," she said quietly, reaching a hand up to his face, but never actually touching him. Her hand slowly drifted back down to her side. "I'm sorry. But I'm afraid this is it for us."

Beni shrugged, taking an awkward half-step back. She stepped towards him, acting for a moment like she wanted to embrace him. But she didn't. He watched her and waited for her, but she didn't. And his brow furrowed darkly.

"You could have told me earlier," he said with a weak form of petulance.

"As I said," she whispered softly. "I handle my own affairs."


	19. looking better

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Carnahan Manor: Cairo, 1925_

"You're **looking better**, Evelyn," Delphine said with a cheery smile on her red lips. She brought her coffee cup to her mouth and took a long sip, her eyes looking particularly violet thanks to the deep purple blouse she was wearing that morning. Her gaze wandered away from Evelyn's stiff smile and back to the newspaper she had spread out on the dining room table, flipped open to the gossip section. Her mouth jerked distastefully. _"Mon Dieu_, can you believe the Sutherlands named their daughter Eugenia? What would possibly possess a person to name a beautiful little baby_ Eugenia?"_

Evelyn let out a thin chuckle and slipped into the chair across from Delphine. The early morning sun cast a buttery light across the table, and even though Evelyn was still a little shaken from the miscarriage last week, she couldn't help but feel invigorated by the brightness of a new day. She'd stopped bleeding at last, and this morning she finally felt up to waking at a reasonable hour and coming to breakfast.

Mara lumbered in from the kitchen, and her small eyes widened in surprise a moment before a smile creased her pleasant face. "Good morning, Evelyn. How nice to see you at the table. Can I bring you some tea?"

Evelyn nodded her head. "And perhaps...a waffle?"

Mara's eyes brightened, and she nodded quickly. "Of course, my dear. I have some fresh figs and I could whip some cream for you - "

"That would be lovely, Mara. Thank you."

Delphine smiled up at her cousin again. "It is so good you're eating again. You have been looking so gaunt...What a terrible illness you must have had."

Evelyn let out a brisk sigh. "Well. It's over now."

Just then Lord Carnahan strode in. He glanced at the table briefly, and then his serious gray eyes widened. A smile spread across his face.

"Evelyn," he said happily. "We've missed you."

She smiled back at him.

"I take it you're feeling better," he added.

"Yes."

Just then Mara came back with Evelyn's tea, and hurried back into the kitchen without another word. Barely before the door closed behind her, she was back with another steaming cup, heavy laden with milk. She placed it in front of Lord Carnahan's usual seat at the head of the table. He gave her a smile and thanked her, settling into his chair. He took a sip from his cup and glanced at the paper spread out in front of Delphine curiously. Evelyn's brow furrowed when she saw the not-so-discrete way Delphine pointed to a certain headline, and Lord Carnahan raised his eyebrows. The two of them shared a look.

Evelyn frowned. "What's the matter?"

Lord Carhanan blinked, giving her a dismissive wave of his hand. But Delphine glanced at him urgently.

"Come on, Uncle," she said quietly. "It's good news, isn't it?"

Evelyn glanced between them suspiciously before reaching across the table and snatching the paper from Delphine's hands. Lord Carnahan let out a sigh and sipped at his tea, while Delphine crossed her arms over her chest uncomfortably. She watched Evelyn and chewed on her lip, waiting for her eyes to catch the news story that she'd just shown her uncle.

Mara brought out Eveln's waffle, piled high with hot figs and freshly-whipped cream and some sort of carmelly syrup. But she didn't even glance at the tantalizing breakfast. Her brow furrowed against the story, and she sucked in a little breath. After a moment she put the paper down, and looked at her father.

"When did this happen?"

Lord Carnahan shrugged stiffly. "Some time last week, I suppose. Perhaps this weekend." His gaze flitted over to Mara. "Might I have one of those?"

"Me, too," Delphine perked up. Mara nodded and hurried off to the kitchen to make more waffles.

"Does..." Delphine quickly stopped herself and buried the rest of her words in a big gulp of coffee. Lord Carnahan glanced at her with half-lidded eyes, and turned his attention to Evelyn.

"Does Beni know about this?" he asked with the boldness that had evaded Delphine.

Evelyn shrugged helplessly and picked up her fork. "I don't know."

"Well," he sighed. "Good riddance."

Evelyn bit back the words she wanted to retort at him, and took a bite of waffle that wasn't nearly as satisfying as it might have been a moment ago. She certainly _was_ relieved to read that Jemima Willoughby had eloped with an American oil tycoon all of the sudden, and that she'd be shipping off on a honeymoon that would eventually land them back on his Texas ranch. But her father couldn't possibly think Jemima was the end of Beni's philandering. If it wasn't her, it would be someone else. Surley he could see that.

And Lord Carnahan _could_ see that, but he was grateful for the lapse Jemima's sudden marriage would cause in Beni's extra-marital activities, and he actually smiled when his son-in-law trudged down to the table, his bloodshot eyes squinting irritably at the open windows.

"Beni," he said with a smug kind of warmth, "what a pleasant surprise to see you at this time of morning."

Beni started to grumble something before realizing he wasn't speaking in English. He rubbed his face and said, "I have to go in and work today."

"An Inquisitor's work is never done," Lord Carnahan said dryly.

Beni scoffed and dropped into the chair next to Evelyn.

"Mara," he shouted at the kitchen, "I want coffee."

He ignored the way his wife scowled at him, reaching his fingers up to rub his eyes until spots appeared in the darkness.

"And an aspirin," he added without opening his eyes.

Evelyn sighed and folded up the newspaper before he opened his eyes again. Mara appeared from the kitchen suddenly, carrying two plates of waffles and setting them down in front of Lord Carnahan and Delphine. Beni gave her a bleary scowl.

"Oh, come on, you had time to make them breakfast but you cannot bring me some coffee?"

_"I only have two hands,"_ she muttered in Arabic.

_"I can speak that language, too, you stupid cow,"_ he retorted.

She glared at him the whole way back to the kitchen, and took her time in there fixing his coffee while he suffered in the bright morning light. He ignored the amused look on his father-in-law's face and reached across Evelyn's plate for the paper. Her fingers twitched, and she almost snatched it from him, but she stopped herself. He spread it out on the table beside him and fished in his pocket for a cigarette.

Beni had only been literate for about two years. He read little more than the paper, because news stories were always short and simply written, but it still took him longer than anyone else in the house to make it through an article, and Evelyn didn't anticipate him happening across the write-up on Jemima's marriage for a while. With a sigh, she focused her attention on eating her waffle, glancing at him every now and then to see how he might take the news.

Lord Carnahan heaved a loud sigh. "Perhaps when Mara's brought your coffee, we might have a chat in the den."

Evelyn sucked in a nervous breath, and met Delphine's wide eyes for a brief moment before looking at her father suspiciously.

Beni didn't quite glance up from the paper, and groaned, "Sure."

"Good."

"Look who I found hunkered down on the stoop!"

Evelyn's gaze jerked up at the sound of her brother's voice, and collided head-long into Rick O'Connell's handsome face. He gave her a nervous smile and his throat jerked; his eyes quickly fled to the floor.

"Sorry, I didn't want to interrupt your breakfast..."

"It's no trouble," Jonathan assured him, slapping him on the back. "Have a seat and some coffee, my good son." Jonathan had a kind of strained, unnatural smile on his face as he ushered Rick into the chair next to Beni. He kept glancing between the handsome American and his cousin, and said with a hollow laugh, "Any friend of Delphine's is welcome at this table, I always say."

Rick forced a smile and sat down stiffly next to Beni, who jumped when he noticed the man there out of the corner of his eye. He'd been so concentrated on deciphering the words in the newspaper that he hadn't even noticed Rick come in, and gaped at him with a flabbergasted expression.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded at last.

Rick shrugged. "Good morning to you, too."

Beni was ready to ask, again, what he was doing at their breakfast table on a Monday morning, but just then Mara arrived at last with his coffee and aspirin. He glared at her impatiently.

"It's about time."

She glared back, but Jonathan obliviously intervened. "Ah, Mara! You're looking ravishing as ever this morning. Might you bring me a spot of tea, and a bit of coffee for our friend Major O'Connell, as well?"

Mara gave him a little smile and tousled his hair. "Anything for my boy."

Lord Carnahan noticed Beni's cup on the table, and watched him with a sort of urgency as he threw the aspirin down his throat and chased it with a hot gulp of coffee. When he was finished, Lord Carnahan raised his eyebrows and made an obvious gesture towards the den. Beni's lip wrinkled in a disgruntled expression, but he reluctantly got out of his seat and followed his father-in-law out of the room.

Evelyn held her breath as they left, desperately wishing she could have joined them to know what they were discussing. If Beni had found the story in the paper, he never showed it; she assumed he would have, since he wasn't terribly subtle...but perhaps he already knew it was happening. She sighed and tried to push her apprehensive curiosity about their conversation out of her head.

Jonathan cozied up next to Delphine, eyeing her waffle hungrily. He reached over to take a fig, and she swatted his hand.

"You can get your own, Jon," she said, though her eyes danced with amusement. He gave her a sorrowful look, and she giggled. "Alright, fine."

She cut off a bite with her fork and held it out for him; just then Mara returned with the coffee and tea. She watched Jonathan with a scolding smile.

"Would you like one?" she offered.

He nodded as he swallowed the bite. "Very much so."

Mara chuckled, turning her attention to Rick. "What about you?"

He shook his head. "I really shouldn't. I need to go here soon."

She nodded her head and lumbered out of the room again.

Evelyn glanced at Rick nervously, just one chair down from her now that Beni had left. She tried to still the fluttering in her stomach when she noticed the way the sunlight played over his tanned, handsome features and spun gold in his hair. Against her better judgment, she blurted:

"You can have the rest of mine, if you'd like."

He looked surprised, but he smiled at her. "Ah, no thanks. That's nice, though - "

"Have you had breakfast?"

Rick shook his head.

Her face felt very hot, and she couldn't quite look at him, but she pushed the plate down the table anyway. "Then I insist. I've had quite enough."

He gave her a lopsided grin, and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, if you_ insist."_

She couldn't help the silly smile on her face as he took the first bite, and promptly wolfed down what was left of the waffle in a matter of a few minutes. Delphine watched him in something like amusement, though her eyes kept flitting up to the clock on the wall thoughtfully. She barely waited until he'd finished eating to suggest:

"Perhaps we could go out to the garden for a moment?"

He shrugged and nodded his head.

Evelyn and Jonathan both hid their discomfort in false smiles and pleasant goodbyes. Rick met Evelyn's veiled eyes and thanked her for breakfast, and her heart sank within her to watch him follow Delphine out of the dining room and out of sight.

The sun was hot when Delphine stepped outside; she shielded her eyes with her hand and walked briskly across the yard and slipped behind a remote bush. Even with his long, easy strides, Rick had trouble keeping up with her.

"What did he say about lunch this afternoon?" she asked breathlessly.

Rick let out a sigh, and awkwardly dug in his pocket for the note Ardeth had entrusted him with. He handed it over to her and shifted his weight while she read it. He stared at the grass and wasn't even aware of her concerned frown until he finally glanced up, hoping he could leave.

"But this won't do," she said, folding the paper between her hands. "I have to go back to France tomorrow..."

Rick shrugged helplessly. Her eyes were bright and urgent against his face.

"You need to take me there," she said.

Despite himself, Rick scoffed. "No - "

"You must."

He shook his head. "No, I 'must' not."

She took hold of his elbow plaintively. "Rick, please. I must see him..."

Rick stared her down with wide eyes. "Look, I'm sorry, but we don't bring women on the base. There's some ugly stuff there - "

Her brow furrowed. "I'm not scared."

"I could get into a lot of trouble," he told her pointedly. She raised her eyebrows.

"With whom? Ardeth is your commanding officer, is he not?"

Rick heaved a sigh and glanced up. "Look. Ardeth_ is_ my commanding officer. And what my commanding officer asked me to do, was to bring you that note. Now I brought you that note, and I've done my job."

Delphine let out an incredulous scoff. "Are you serious? Do you really think you can convince me this is some kind of special mission?"

Rick sighed. Her gaze persisted against him.

"You are doing this as his friend. So be a friend to both of us and take me to the base."


	20. a smug smile

_Author's Note: Here's a dorky confession. One of Lord Carnahan's lines came to me like...last week, and I've been dying to use it. Seriously. Dying. I'm sure you'll be able to figure out which it is._

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Carnahan Manor: Cairo, 1925_

Lord Carnahan had **a smug smile** on his face as he leaned back in his favorite leather chair, observing his son-in-law with remote amusement.

He'd never been particularly fond of Beni, but he'd believed him when he'd said he could handle the pressures of being married into a political family. He believed him when he said he would take care of Evelyn. He believed him when he said he was a good man, who was only doing his duty.

Nigel Carnahan wasn't a fool. A blind man could see Beni was less than reputable, and Nigel had done his research. He knew all about Beni's shady past; he'd meticulously examined his prison records himself. He knew - down to the last shilling - the exact amount Beni had stolen over his years. He knew the names of his mother and of the man who was _most likely_ his father (as well as the names of a few men who were less likely his father), and he knew where Beni's siblings and half-siblings and step-siblings could be found, not that he had any interest in finding them. He could vividly picture, down to the stench of dirty bodies and scurrying of roaches, the place Beni had spent his childhood and early adolescence. He knew the name of the prison - the dimensions of the cell - he'd spent a few sentences for stealing in Paris before being shipped off to Algeria and the French Foreign Legion. He knew things Beni probably couldn't even remember, like the name of his drill sergeant and the name of the first village he was stationed at. Lord Carnahan knew more about Beni Gabor than he knew about himself. He knew every ugly detail of the man's past, and he'd still asked him to marry his daughter.

It wasn't that Nigel was a fool. No one could ever accuse him of that. And it wasn't that he didn't know what he was getting into when he brought a Hungarian streetrat into his family. He knew who Beni Gabor was.

But he'd found in the man something trustworthy, even if most people would look on that same trait entirely the opposite. Since joining Ardeth Bay's ranks - since being promoted and entrusted with the grisly task of interrogation - Beni had excelled in ways he never had before. Suddenly his records were clean. Suddenly his files were dotted with (admittedly reluctant) praise. _"He's the man for the job," _one commanding officer had scribbled on his file next to a precise and detailed confession Beni had extracted.

The man for the job, indeed.

Because Beni Gabor - when baited with the prospect of reward - was a very trustworthy fellow indeed. Canine, even. The more confessions he pried out of people, the more interrogations were entrusted to him. And the more he interrogated, the more he was promoted. The more recognition he received. And most importantly, the more his pay increased.

If Nigel had learned nothing else in his detailed combing of the man's past, he'd learned that Beni Gabor would do anything - _anything_ - for a buck. The reward didn't have to be particularly impressive. It didn't even have to be money, though that was by far his preferred motivation. He was the greedy, attention-starved runt of a thrice-married slut, unloved and often untolerated, and all he wanted was the illusion of importance.

Beni Gabor was a dog. And dogs could be trained.

Lord Carnahan might have realized that earlier, but he'd made a foolish mistake in handling it. He'd given Beni a sizable account that was all his; a good faith investment for his behavior. But that's not the way one trains a dog. Lord Carnahan wasn't an animal person, and he must have forgotten. But a dog will eat through a reward all in one sitting, and then go about his business as he pleases. Unless...

Unless.

Nigel took a sip of his tea and met Beni's impatient gaze. His eyes had lost some of their redness, and his face was reviving between the aspirin and the coffee. He raised his eyebrows and said:

"Well? Here we are."

Lord Carnahan nodded his head. "Yes."

"What do you want?" Beni asked bluntly.

Lord Carnahan let out a sigh. "Well, firstly, my condolences on the loss of your mistress. She was so very charming."

Beni rolled his eyes and took a gulp from his coffee cup. "Oh, shut up. You are thrilled she got married."

A thin smile spread across Nigel's face, and he held up his hands helplessly. "I cannot tell a lie."

Beni scoffed.

"But the primary reason I asked you to speak with me in private is because I would like to make a deal with you."

A thoughtful frown crossed Beni's face, and he sat up a little in his seat. He suddenly didn't seem so impatient to leave the room. Lord Carnahan hid a snort in his cup of tea. _Predictable as ever_, he thought.

"I don't believe I have to tell you that we've only barely - perhaps, only _technically_ - avoided scandal thanks to your dalliance with Mrs. Willoughby. Oh," he almost sneered. "Excuse me. I mean _Mrs. Daniels_ now, of course."

Beni's eyes narrowed. "Of course."

"Now lately, I've been mulling a particular statement in my head - something you said to me (granted, in anger) the other night at dinner. You suggested that I have 'simply not been creative enough' when I vented my frustration at your serial insurgent behavior." Lord Carnahan cleared his throat, and took another sip of tea. "Well. While I'm no Lord Byron, I like to think I'm at least moderately creative, and I believe I've found the solution to our little...misunderstanding."

He could tell by the glossy look in Beni's eyes, and the way that he raised his eyebrows, that he had gathered only the jist of what was said. Beni spoke English rather well - it was his primary language now - but he still had yet to garner a vocabulary that even modestly compared to Nigel's. He relied mostly on context clues, which were often hard to decipher among people like his father-in-law, who spoke with a kind of cold boredom whether they were discussing Sunday's dinner or arguing the most controversial politics.

Beni waited in silence, and took a sip of his coffee. Nigel took a breath, and looked him in the eye with his severe gaze.

"I'd like to issue a stipend, on a monthly basis, of exactly four hundred pounds in exchange for your fidelity to my daughter."

Beni's brow furrowed; he stared back at his father-in-law, perplexed.

"It's really very simple," Nigel said, his voice becoming even more grave. "At the end of every month, I'll have money wired into your account, assuming that you've been faithful to her for the entire month."

Beni pressed his lips together. "What if I'm not?"

Nigel shrugged. "Then you won't get anything for that month."

"Even if it is only once?"

"Even if it is only once."

Beni let out a groan, glaring at the floor with a disgruntled expression. He whined, "But Evelyn is a nun! Am I never supposed to enjoy myself again?"

Lord Carnahan snorted. "Beni," he said with a kind of poisonous disdain, "if you honestly believe that I give even the most rudimentary damn about your coital satisfaction, you're severely mistaken."

Beni heaved a sigh and rest his chin in his hand. Nigel thought he looked like a pouting child. After a moment, his gaze flashed up defiantly.

"But how will you know if I am faithful or not?" he challenged.

Lord Carnahan let out a little scoff. "Major Gabor, if you can manage to shag anyone without it coming to my attention, you have my blessing. If you ever happen to achieve that level of discretion, we'll _both_ be happy men."

Beni's mouth twisted thoughtfully, and he stared into his empty cup for a moment. Nigel watched in satisfaction as a dark smirk slowly crawled up the side of Beni's face, and tried not to appear insufferably smug when his son-in-law met his eyes with that animal eagerness he'd been expecting.

"I will be happy to dedicate the rest of my life to my darling Evelyn," he said, false and sweet.

Nigel held out his hand, and Beni shook it.

"That's good," he said with a slight smirk. "I knew you were a reasonable man."

"Of course I am."

"And I can expect, of course, that you're willing to begin immediately."

Beni nodded his head hurriedly. "Oh, yes."

Nigel's little smirk brightened into a smug grin. He stood up and added casually, "Bully. Because I've decided to host a little send-off party for our dear Mrs. Daniels and her fine new husband. After all her late husband did for the city, I believe she's owed something of a formal goodbye. Wouldn't you agree?"

The smile faded from Beni's face, and his mouth gaped in a distasteful expression. Lord Carnahan gave him a condescending nod.

"Good. I was hoping you'd disagree, as a formal goodbye in your definition would likely cost you four hundred pounds."


	21. delphine

_Author's Note: Well, this chapter is fairly short, but it's Ardeth fluff, and I'm hoping to get the next chapter out later tonight/early tomorrow. And, okay, so lame true facts. I've been just busily working on two stories in this universe - a three-part follow-up to _And Love Thee After_, and a five-part subplot about Jemima and Daniels in Texas. And rather than working on this story, which kind of determines when those come out, I've been working on them. That makes zero sense, ya'll. _

_(In case you're curious, the follow-up won't be posted til this is done; the Daniels/Jemima story will be posted after I post the next chapter of this story. I think that helps with the chronology.)_

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Base: Cairo, 1925_

"**delphine**."

Despite the surprise that was evident in his gaze, Ardeth smiled and took her by the hands. He glanced a few times questioningly at Rick, but his American friend could only shrug helplessly, barely able to hide a wince under his superior's dark eyes. Ardeth didn't seem angry with him. He even thanked him, and Rick readily excused himself from Ardeth's office. He might have heard the door lock behind him, and smirked to himself as he strode down the hall.

Ardeth pulled Delphine into a warm embrace, and whispered in her hair, "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see you," she told his chest simply. "I'm leaving tomorrow. I could not bear not to see you..."

His arms tightened around her body. "Then don't go."

She heaved a sigh, reluctantly shaking her head. "It is only a few more weeks...I am so close to finishing..."

He pulled away from her gently, looking into her deep purplish eyes. "Must you go?"

Delphine offered him a sad smile. "Evelyn will skin me alive if I do not finish school this close to graduating."

Ardeth reached a hand to her face, pushing her dark, glossy curls off of her cheek. "I will miss you desperately."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her lips. The taste of his kiss sent a shiver down her spine, and before she was even fully aware, she felt her back connect with the door. A longing energy rushed through her whole body; her arms tightened around his neck, and she pulled him even closer. She was vaguely aware of the moan that escaped her throat.

His hand strayed from her cheek, slipping down her throat, down to her breast. She sucked in a little breath and tangled her fingers in his hair. _Please, _she thought. _Please..._

She felt his hand slide down her body, down to her hip. He was gathering up her skirt in his hand, and she was ready, so very ready...

_Please_.

His fingertips brushed the smooth skin of her thigh, and paused. He broke their kiss sharply, pulling his hand out from under her skirt like something had burned him. Despite herself, Delphine let out an impatient groan, glaring down at the floor as she struggled to catch her breath. Ardeth took a careful step back, rubbing his face dismally.

"How much longer must we do this?" she whispered impatiently. He closed his eyes and rubbed them wearily. "I am here. And you're killing me."

He let out a quiet scoff. "I am killing myself."

Delphine fought the urge to roll her eyes, and crossed her arms over her chest. Silence fell over them like a heavy, itchy blanket, and they stared at one another. She stared at him, barely blinking, waiting expectantly for some kind of answer - some kind of solution. But he could only stare back, helpless and frustrated, his hands curling in and out of fists at his side.

It was his morality that was exasperating this situation. And she blamed him. She was more than willing to make love to him; she'd never stopped his hands or his lips. And every time this happened, a desperate part of her hoped that he would release all of his inhibitions and take her. Just take her, already. She was dying for him, and he could have her. She'd been led to believe that all men took advantage of such situations. At the very least, they couldn't refuse time and time again. But Ardeth was different. Of course he was; it was part of why she'd been so drawn to him, and why she found herself loving him even though she still didn't know much about him.

Sometimes she challenged him. _You don't even want me, do you? That's why you won't take me. You don't even want me. _She knew better than that. She'd felt the impatient desire in his kiss, and seen the way his body flinched, tense and aggravated, every time he stopped things from going too far. He _was_ just as frustrated by all of this as her. But didn't he feel even a little bit bad about what he was doing to her? Certainly, they both suffered - but _he_ was the one imposing this on them. Not her. Delphine rationalized that if it was her - if she'd chosen to be a good Catholic about it, and wanted to hold him off - she would have eventually given in. She despised the frustration. And she hated seeing it in him as well.

Didn't he hate seeing it in her?

"You said you would marry me," she said slowly.

He nodded his head. "And I will."

Delphine pressed her lips together. He hadn't given any indication that he was going to marry her soon. She didn't know what he was waiting for, but she knew if he keep putting it off, she was bound to snap from the tension of wanting him and being denied. Over and over and over. She would snap.

At last she heaved a defeated sigh, her hand wandering towards the doorknob. She grasped it, but didn't turn it. She didn't want to leave, even though she knew there was nothing for them right now. He wouldn't take her. Not until after they were married. He'd been shockingly rigid about it.

"Perhaps it is good I am going back to Paris," she said softly.

Ardeth let out a sigh, and slowly nodded his head. "Perhaps it is."

Delphine's teeth clenched, but she tried not to show it. Those weren't exactly the words she was hoping to hear from him...but that was what he'd said. That was what he had told her. And she would have to live with them instead of grappling with the statement she'd wanted to hear,_ Marry me. Marry me, Delphine._

He hadn't said that.

But he had said that he would marry her, and she believed him. He was perhaps the only honest man she knew, and she believed him. He had his reasons for not marrying her now. And it was for the best, she told herself. She'd finish school and Evelyn and her uncle would be pleased. And then she'd be back here for the summer, and then -_ then_ they'd be married. Neither of them could live like this. Neither of them could abide this wanting and denial.

"I will see you in a few weeks," she said at last, offering him a quiet smile. He took a step towards her, but she stopped him with a sharp glance. "Don't start if you will not finish."

His eyes dropped to the floor, and he shifted his weight for an uneasy moment before looking back at her again.

For a second, she thought he might actually, _finally,_ take her. For a second, she could see the burning determination in his eyes, and she believed he'd take her, here in his office. He'd take her, and she'd let him.

But he blinked at the burning determination had died down. His eyes were warm and sad, and he took another step to give her a chaste kiss on her forehead. She scoffed, touching his arm for the brief moment his lips were on her.

He took a step back and met her eyes. "I should get to work."

She nodded.

"Have a safe trip."

"I will."

His throat jerked nervously. "You have the number here at my office."

She nodded again. "Yes."

"Perhaps you would call me...when it is convenient."

Delphine bit back a smile, and reached in her bag for a scrap of paper and a pen. She jotted down the number at her dormitory and held it out to him.

"Be sure to ask for Delphine Bertrand. There is also a Delphine Dubois, and she gets more calls than I do."

Ardeth chuckled, tucking the number away in his pocket. "I doubt that."

Delphine shrugged. "Well. You know what they say about blondes."

He raised his eyebrows. "That none of them compare to you?"

She giggled, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "Ah,_ mon cher_, whatever will I do with you? Don't you know the only point in charming a girl is to get her in your bed?"


	22. secretly hated her

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Carnahan Manor: Cairo, 1925_

Sometimes Evelyn wondered if her father **secretly hated her. **She stood stiffly next to her husband, taking quick, emphatic sips from her champagne like nicks from a razor. She actively fought the urge to glare at her father, because_ what was this all about,_ anyway? Only a few days ago, he'd put the newspaper down and glibly proclaimed "good riddance" to Jemima Willoughby. And yet this is where Evelyn found herself, barely maintaining a false smile on her face and doing her very best to play the part of gracious hostess at a send-off party for her husband's mistress. She'd spent half the evening in and out of the kitchen, keeping an eye on the hors d'oeuvres and punch. She'd balked at the sheer volume of caviar and brandy. Gracious, he hadn't even offered such expensive delicacies at her wedding - yet here he was, bellying up Jemima and the entire Hartley clan with truffles and champagne.

Good riddance, indeed.

Evelyn didn't know (though she suspected) that either her father or the city of Cairo had footed the bill of transporting the Hartleys and Governor Chamberlain from Alexandria. Her mouth twitched irritably. Why in heaven's name was her father straining himself to impress the Hartleys? Everyone knew they were at the brink of destitution, and the family's only member in Cairo was Jemima, whose scandal with Beni had certainly caused more commotion than her late husband's memory was worth.

"Lovely party."

Evelyn glanced to her side in surprise at the sound of the voice, and nodded her head. It was Jemima's older sister Tamsin. Evelyn had attended university with Tamsin, and though she'd never taken the time to get to know her, she'd always liked her well enough. Tamsin wasn't as pretty or congenial as her sister, but she seemed considerably more restrained. She'd wagered her family name in a marriage with a respectable Alexandria lawyer, and even if she'd never live in the ostentacious wealth her sister did, she was taken care of.

"Thank you," Evelyn said, the first traces of genuine hospitality seeping into her voice. "You're looking well, Tamsin."

She nodded and took a sip from her champagne. "Thank you, darling. You too."

Tamsin stood there next to her for a moment, her eyes straying about the room with a look of reserved dread settled into her mouth. Evelyn let out a sigh, glancing uncertainly between the two equally unfriendly figures flanking her: Tamsin on one side, Beni on the other.

She took another sip of champagne and asked, "Tamsin, have you met my husband Major Gabor?"

Tamsin raised her eyebrows and met Beni's eyes, which were wide and startled from hearing his name. Evelyn had wondered if the Hartleys were aware of Jemima's dalliance with Beni, but from the half-lidded boredom on Tamsin's face, she assumed not.

"Charmed, I'm sure," Tamsin said with a sigh. Beni's lip wrinkled in a distasteful sneer.

"The pleasure is all mine," he retorted.

Evelyn shot him a look. "Tamsin is Jemima's older sister. We attended university together."

"Oh," Beni said with a chuckle that was both bitter and smug. "Congratulations on the new additions to your family."

Tamsin frowned curiously. "I'm sorry, did you say 'additions'?"

He feigned innocence, but Evelyn noticed an ugly smile glinting in his eyes. "Did I? I meant to say addition."

She forced a smile and excused herself. Beni let out a wheezing sigh. "What a bitch."

Evelyn groaned, her eyes narrowing at him fiercely. "Don't use that word. This isn't a bar."

He scoffed, his gazing wandering away, lazing about the room. She watched him with a suspicious frown, and noticed his legs wavering beneath him.

"How much have you drank?" she demanded.

Beni rolled his eyes and took another drink from his glass. She heard him mutter something at her in Hungarian that sounded whiny and vaguely threatening. Evelyn didn't have the patience for that right now. She didn't care if he wanted to swear at her in some language nobody around them could understand; she just didn't want to stand around him anymore. She caught a glimpse of Jemima giggling on her new husband's arm and let out a sigh.

Surely she could leave Beni alone. Jemima's husband - Mr. Daniels, was it? - had no intentions of leaving her side, as far as she could tell. She made up an excuse about checking on the caviar and slipped away. Beni barely acknowledged her with a quiet snort.

He brought his glass to his lips again, his scowl wandering over to Jemima and her stupid new husband again. He still couldn't believe she'd let that obnoxious bastard fuck her. She was such a pathetic, desperate little leech. She would do anything to survive - even pawn off his child as someone else's - and it disgusted him. These British aristocrats thought they were so much more sophisticated than everybody else, but they were more revolting than streetrats like Beni. At least Beni knew how to survive on nothing. Jemima was so afraid of having to live without diamonds and lobster dinners, she would open her legs for a moron like that and move out to a dusty ranch in the middle of nowhere.

He hoped she grew bored and fat out there. It would serve her right.

He took another drink from his glass and let out a bitter laugh. He would tell her so, right to her stupid, smirking face and her stupid, unmatched eyes. Just as soon as he finished his drink...

He'd already drank so much, he didn't even notice the hawkish steel glare of his father-in-law from across the room. Beni wasn't the only one sipping at a drink and biding his time. Lord Carnahan had a neat glass of Glenlivet in his hand and the Governor of Alexandria at his side. If Lord Chamberlain was enjoying his own glass of scotch, he didn't show it. His wooden face barely twitched with an expression as he took sip after silent sip from the glass.

"I hope you understand how truly appreciative I am of this visit."

Lord Chamberlain nodded his head, bored. "Quite."

"I know the trip is a bit of a hassle."

Chamberlain's shoulders shrugged stiffly. "I've been meaning to make my way up here for a while, Nigel."

Lord Carnahan's face contorted with a thoughtful frown. "Have you now?"

"Actually, yes," he said in an unreadable tone. "But I have the suspicion you asked me here for your own purposes, and I'd be incorrigibly rude to try and impose my own out of turn."

Nigel let out a thin chuckle. "Well. You've certainly piqued my interest."

Chamberlain sighed laboriously. "Don't get too excited, Nigel. It's a thorn of a problem with no immediate solution, and you'll likely despise me for requesting your attention."

"Despise you, Allen? Don't be ridiculous."

He caught the glint of Chamberlain's glance, and for a moment, they stood there stiffly together; politely disliking one another because that was politics. Nigel certainly hadn't given a damn about Jemima Willoughby moving to America. But he saw an opportunity to invite Alexandria's finest up the river, and he took it. And now Allen Chamberlain was here, darkly stewing in resentment, dreading the moment Nigel would ask the inevitable favor of him.

This was how these sorts of things worked.

Except that now Allen had his own problem, his own favor, and Nigel was steeping in the same sort of discomfort. Neither of them knew what the other wanted to ask, but they were both already scrambling for the appropriate, diplomatic responses. _Oh, how I'd love to assist you in that pickle you've found yourself in, Allen, but you see, my hands are tied..._

At last Chamberlain sighed, swallowing the last dregs of his glass. "Your children are looking well."

Nigel offered a polite smile, though his eyes were hard and suspicious. He'd been at this game much to long to believe Allen had actually changed the subject at all, and he had to wonder what Jonathan and Evelyn had to do with Chamberlain's situaton.

"Yes," he said carefully.

"It seems Evelyn's made a fine - if unconventional - match for herself."

Lord Carnahan gave a slow nod of his head. "Yes. Major Gabor is a good man."

Chamberlain barely raised his eyebrows. "Pity they're still living here at home with you."

Nigel blinked. "They're in the market for a house."

"Of course," Allen continued on smoothly, a smug and detestable glint in his eye. He took a breath and said, "I must say, I'm rather impressed with what you've done here in Cairo. Employing people like him and that Arab general. I doubted as much as everyone else, but you've certainly proved us all wrong."

Nigel's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before quickly resuming the dull expected quality of reservation. He'd known Allen Chamberlain for quite some time, and he'd rarely known him to pay anyone a compliment. Even a backhanded one.

"Thank you," he said.

Allen labored a sigh, staring distastefully into his empty glass. He adjusted his monocle. "I suppose you've heard all about the trouble we've had lately in Alexandria."

Nigel turned and looked at Chamberlain, staring into his face with eyes that expertly hid their shock. Could he truly be so fortunate? He wasn't certain. But it _seemed_ as though Allen was going to solve Nigel's problem with one of his own. He swallowed a smirk in a sip of scotch and turned his attention back to the party.

"Yes. Bloody shame about those government houses," he said evenly. "And all those people, of course."

Allen sighed. "Bloody shame."

"Have they found the men responsible?"

Chamberlain raised his eyebrows, looking at Nigel pointedly. "As a matter of fact, they haven't."

A knowing smirk found its way into the corner of Lord Carnahan's mouth. "Well. It seems you might be in the market for a master interrogator."

Allen scoffed, meeting his gaze evenly. "I _might_ be in the market for bloody lot of them."

Nigel nodded his head slowly, a thoughtful consideration lining his face. He could feel Chamberlain's sharp, attentive eyes on him the whole time.

"Get your son-in-law out of the house," he added dryly.

Nigel snorted, his eyes wandering back to the party in search of that familiar, sneaking form. He frowned when he realized Beni had disappeared from where he'd previously loitered by the refreshments, and instinctively darted across the room to where the honored couple had been receiving their guests. His hand tightened white around his empty glass, and despite his best efforts, his eye twitched, because Mr. Daniels was laughing there with his buffoon friends by himself.

He sucked in a deep breath and searched the party again. And again.

"Looking for someone, Nigel?"

He glanced impatiently at Allen, and had to remind himself that the man wasn't sneering at him on purpose. At least he didn't think so. His gaze flitted about the room, and he breathed a frustrated, "son of a bitch," before he had the thought to restrain himself. Chamberlain raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Nigel cleared his throat and excused himself before storming off in the direction of the kitchen.

If he had wanted to find Beni, he would have been surprised to know he was headed in vaguely the right direction. He strode angrily past the little cellar door that gave on to a narrow flight of stairs and a dark, blessedly cool little room where the Carnahans stored their wine, and where the offending parties could be found glaring at one another from opposite ends of the tiny, cramped room. One buzzing electric lightbulb blinked and flickered nervously overhead, and Beni had a bottle of merlot so dry he coughed after every swig clutched in his hand.

Jemima's arms were crossed over her chest, and she chided him with a dark gaze. "What in heaven's name is the matter with you?"

"What's the...matter with you?" he managed to retort, reeling and catching himself on the wall.

She heaved a sigh. "Beni, I've no patience for this nonsense. You already know everything. Don't be an ass."

"Don't tell me what to do," he said around his ever-thickening accent. "You are nothing but a whore."

Jemima shook her head. "I'll not argue with a drunk."

"I'm not drunk."

She scoffed, raising an eyebrow. "Darling, if this is your sober, I'd hate to see you drunk."

Beni snorted and took another swig of wine. She sighed impatiently and glanced back up towards the door dismally. "How on earth will I get you up those stairs...?"

"I said I'm not drunk."

"Oh,_ yes,"_ she said condescendingly. "Of course you aren't, darling."

"Shut up."

Jemima's eyes wandered back to his in the yellow, anxious light. "Well, you wanted to speak with me. And here I am. David thinks I'm in the W.C., so you don't exactly have a lot of time."

Beni's eyes narrowed. He glared at the floor.

"Well?"

His gaze snapped up to hers testily. "I hope you get fat."

Jemima bit back an amused expression, staring back at him in something like surprise. "Really? Well, darling, I've only been hearing_ that_ since I was a schoolgirl - "

"You're a cold-hearted whore," he spat. "You do not care for me and you lied to me. You are selling my child to that American just so you can be comfortable."

She blinked, her lips moving thoughtfully for an unreadable moment. He stared at her with, glazed satisfied eyes, and she took a breath. She took a breath and straightened her shoulders and stared back at him.

"I am covering up _your_ mistake. For _you_. Don't you dare accuse me of not caring about you. _You_ don't care about me."

His face exaggerated a ridiculous, dismissive expression. "I care about you - "

"You do not," she retorted. "The only thing that mattered to you was whether you had me to yourself or not. That's_ still _the only thing that matters to you."

Beni's brow furrowed. He had to steady himself against the wall again. "Besides Evelyn - who is my _wife_ - you were the only woman I was fucking - for months!"

Jemima scoffed. "Well, darling, as touching as_ that_ sentiment is - "

"Shut up," he told her. "You are nothing but cruel to me. You lied and crawled into bed with that American, and now you will take my child away from me. You are a selfish whore and you deserve to get fat and ugly."

She shook her head, letting out an impatient sigh. "I'm going back upstairs."

"Fine," he threw back childishly. She turned and took the first few steps. "I was about done with you, anyway."

He watched her stop, and he could see her shoulders tighten in her backless dress. Her hands flexed at her sides, and then she went up the rest of the way. She didn't know how he made it out of the cellar, or how, but she didn't care. She strode across the room and back to her husband, a fake and sunny smile on her face. She kept her glittering eyes on him; she didn't want to see Beni again, not even out of the corner of her eye.

"There she is!" Daniels said, taking her by the arm. "We were startin' to wonder."

She said nothing, but she kept smiling.

"C'mere."

Jemima giggled, glancing about in confusion as he pulled her over to a table and whistled for everyone's attention. Someone pressed a glass of champagne into her hand, and she was grateful for the opportunity to stop smiling and take a long sip while the room quieted down. While her heart quieted down. She was anxious and agitated by Beni's words; everything he'd said was childish and slurred, but she felt the sharp claws of guilt just the same. He was just trying to upset her, of course...and certainly he was nothing but big talk...Just the same, what sort of woman was she, passing off his child as someone else's? What sort of woman was she, taking a child far away from his father where they'd likely never meet or even know of one another? _You are a selfish whore,_ he'd said. The words hadn't stung at the time; Beni would just as easily call a waitress a selfish whore for not bringing his drink fast enough, so the words lost nearly all their impact on his lips. But just the same, they were digging into her now. Accusing her now.

What sort of woman was she?

"Everybody, me and Jem just wanna say thanks for this nice little shindig ya'll put on for us."

Jemima bit back a smile and tried not to join the other English guests who were too drunk not to chuckle at how casually Daniels such quaint and American language.

"Awful nice 'a you, considerin' we didn't invite nobody to the wedding or nothin'."

He turned and gazed at Jemima, a giddy and mysterious smile on his face. She stared back at him in confusion, nervously smiling back. She didn't know why he looked so excited, but realization hit her just a little too late. He opened his mouth, and she tried to whisper, "Don't - "

"And, hell. You know what? I ain't embarrassed, Jem. The whole world can know, for all I care."

Jemima's expression dropped, and she shook her head numbly. "David, don't - "

But he just stared at her, so easy and casual. "Don't what? You don't gotta impress these bastards anymore. I'm richer'n all of 'em, anyways."

She winced under the suddenly cold gazes and surprised gasps. She was too stiff to move.

"Jem's havin' a baby!" he told them all happily. Her hand tightened on his arm, and she glared up at him sharply.

"Stop it."

He scoffed impatiently at her expression. "Ah, shit, honey. Folks can count anyways."

Jemima's mouth twitched, and she turned and stormed away from him. The shocked, quiet room listened to his loud protests and pleas until he followed her outside with a slam of the door.

Evelyn's breath was trapped somewhere in ther throat; she didn't even realize she was standing so very still until she heard the cellar door creak open behind her. She startled, and turned just in time to see her husband catch himself on the wall, muttering foreign curses all the time.

Her stomach dropped.

She looked between her husband and the door Jemima had escaped through, and remembered Beni's snide congratulations to Tamsin. _On your new additions,_ he'd said.

"My God," she whispered. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and let out a little cry of surprise. She glanced up into her father's gaze, and tried not to groan. "What is it now? You can see he was just getting himself plastered in the wine cellar, so perhaps we could call off the witch hunt for a spell."

Lord Carnahan raised his eyebrows. "I'll call off the witch hunt if you'll get him in bed before he makes an utter fool of himself."

Evelyn let out a sigh, glancing distastefully back at her husband.

"All things considered, he behaved better than expected," he said, taking a sip from his refreshed glass of Glenlivet. "And who would have suspected she'd be the scandal of the evening without leaving her husband's side?"

Evelyn let out a scoff and hurried away from him without another word.


	23. what day it was

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Base: Cairo, 1925_

Rick O'Connell had forgotten **what day it was** until he smelled the sticky sweet aroma of fruit in the hall in front of Ardeth's office. Laughter swaggered drunkenly towards his ears, and he tried not to groan.

"Hey, O'Connell, have some palenka?"

He met Beni's leering gaze with a forced and sarcastic smile. "I'm afraid I'm gonna have to pass again this year, Beni."

Beni let out a scoff and nudged one of the Legionnaires beside him, and they chuckled mean and taunting at his back as he pushed past the crowd and knocked on Ardeth's door.

It was the same every year, going on five years now. And Rick had to hand it to Ardeth; where some men might have let a tradition gracefully slip into obscurity, he remained rigid and faithful. Five years. It had been five years to the day since Ardeth had nearly lost his head to a Bedouin warrior, and Beni - against all reason and a history that overwhelmingly suggested otherwise - had taken the heroic shot that saved their general's life. Every year, Ardeth quietly thanked him by leaving a bottle of the finest Hungarian palenka he could manage to acquire on Beni's desk. And every year, Beni made him regret the gesture by getting himself and anyone else who could stomach the stuff (or, more aptly, his smug and withholding nature) raging blitzed.

Rick imagined he heard Ardeth sigh on the other side of the door before it creaked open just enough to let him through. He heaved it shut behind him against the warped frame and the increasingly obnoxious laughter.

Shaking his head, he poured himself a glass of water from Ardeth's pitcher and raised it. "To still being alive."

Ardeth let out a little snort, finding his own glass on the desk and raising it, too. "Perhaps you should save that til the end of today," he said with an obvious nod towards the door.

Rick snorted. "Hey, give the word and I'll haul him home."

Ardeth sighed. "Well, as much as I would like to make him Mrs. Gabor's problem the rest of today...he has work to do."

Rick hid a grimace in a gulp of water. "Yeah?"

The general nodded steadily, his brow furrowed up at the cup of water in his hand. "Yes. A suspected rebel who was stealing jewelry from his employer."

Rick raised his eyebrows incredulously. "Oh. Another one of those rebels with no interest in a rebellion, huh?"

Ardeth gave him a weary but pointed glance. "You know how the policy works. If a man is a suspected rebel, he has to see Beni."

"You know, it _seems _more like these blue bloods like having an excuse to punish their servants."

Ardeth shrugged his shoulders stiffly. "It seems that way to me, as well." He eyed the door as another peel of laughter erupted down the hall. "Perhaps it would be best for everyone if we put it off until tomorrow." He glanced up at Rick with grim, dark eyes. "As I recall, he is something of a mean drunk."

Rick let out a short, bitter laugh. "Especially on palenka. Think it brings back some, uh, less than pleasant memories..."

Ardeth heaved a sigh. "You know, when I gave him that first bottle, I meant for him to savor it."

Rick snorted. "Believe me, Beni's never savored anything in his life."

He lifted his water to his lips, but startled just as someone outside yelled something crude and vaguely indistinguishable, like a punch line to a joke. He rolled his eyes and finished off his water.

"Though I suppose today he comes close, since it's the only day a year anybody else puts up with him."

Ardeth chuckled humorlessly. "He can be...insufferable." The smile faded from his face, and he stared down at his desk with a kind of grave melancholy lining his brow and softening his eyes. He sighed quietly, his finger tracing over the rim of his glass. "But I owe him my life. And for that I am grateful."

Rick shifted his weight uncomfortably, and nodded his head, giving some kind of ready and reassuring agreement, as was expected. He didn't have anything to say for Beni, except that. No matter how aggravating he was, he'd taken that shot when he didn't have to. He'd done something good - perhaps the only good thing he'd ever done - and he supposed he deserved some recognition for that. It was so far from his usual character that it offered a glimmer of hope to Rick. Maybe there was something decent about Beni. Maybe there was something noble and loyal in him. There must be. He saved Ardeth. He hadn't had to.

"Just the same, though, perhaps you should take him home."

Rick glanced up and met Ardeth's eyes, and gave a quick nod. "No problem."

"And O'Connell," he added with a grave glance, "keep him quiet past Rashid's door."

"Hey," Rick told him. "You don't have to tell me that."

He put his cup back on the table and strode out the door, pushing past the crowd of Legionnaires and taking a firm hold on Beni's skinny shoulder.

"Hey!"

"It's time to go home, Beni."

Beni wriggled in his grasp, tripping over his own palenka-impaired feet. "You cannot tell me what to do - "

"Nope," Rick said easily. "But Ardeth can, and he thinks you should take your celebration home."

"Let go of me," Beni whined, his accent leaning hard on his liquor-soaked voice. "I want to go talk to Ardeth. He will let me stay."

"You're drunk," Rick retorted. "And you're getting everybody else drunk. And we got to get some work done around here."

"But it is my day!"

Rick snorted. "What are you, a bride now?"

Beni stumbled to keep up with Rick's long, determined strides, his hands gripped possessively around the neck of the palenka bottle. He paid a special mind to keep Beni on the other side of the hall from the office of Lieutenant Rashid, a narrow-eyed Med-Jai whose wrinkled skin was almost as dark as the tattoos on his face. He despised all Westerners, but had a particular disdain for Beni, and never had approved of Ardeth promoting him to major over several other qualified Med-Jai men in the squad.

"Come on, it'll be fun," Rick said dryly. "You can go spend the day with your wife."

Beni let out a groan. "Ah, fuck her. Why don't you take me to a whorehouse instead?"

Rick rolled his eyes. "I was told to take you home. I'm taking you home."

And with that, he dragged him out into the hot, sunny air and shoved him into his car. He found the keys in Beni's pocket after a grappling little spat of an argument, and drove him immediately to the big, white palace that was the Carnahan Manor. Rick honestly couldn't believe that anyone could grow up in such a place. His own childhood had been so marked by want and poverty; it was strange to imagine being a child in a place like this, so safe and beautiful and clean. He couldn't imagine anything bad ever happening here...until he lugged Beni out of the car and dragged him up the porch steps.

Beni lived here. And bad things followed Beni wherever he went.

Regardless, he knew Evelyn's mother was dead, and had been for a while. Loss could even touch a place like this.

Even a place like this.

He knocked on the door.

He heard a few female voices flutter back and forth before the door swung open and Evelyn stood there in front of them, he bright and pretty eyes first perplexed, and then revolted. She stared at Beni's lank, slouching form with a frown and said with a grimace:

"But it's only ten o'clock in the morning..."

Beni muttered something that sounded vaguely like, "my day," and Rick met Evelyn's confused gaze with wide (but not entirely surprised) eyes.

"I take it you don't know what today is."

She shook her head, glancing over at her husband again. "No. And I'm not sure that I want to."

Rick glanced past her into the foyer. "Let me get him inside for you."

"Hey, I have not...passed out yet...you...know..."

Evelyn raised her eyebrows as Beni's eyes lolled to a close, and his fingers loosened on the neck of the bottle. It slipped from his grasp and shattered on the porch. Evelyn let out a little cry of surprise, but didn't look particularly sad for the loss of those last, sorry dregs of liquor. She met Rick's eyes, shrugged, and stepped aside so he could drag Beni into the house.

They said little more to each other than what was practical, and the warm silence felt awkward between them as Rick volunteered to take Beni up to their bedroom. Evelyn reluctantly agreed after he assured her it was no trouble, and she waited there in the foyer while Rick took on the task of hauling Beni up the stairs.

He found the room Evelyn had indicated, and stood in the doorway with a strange and uneasy feeling in his stomach. The room was yellow and cheery with sunlight, and someone had made up the bed like a fluffy white cloud. It felt wrong to fling Beni's drunken, dirty little body there...

Even if it _was _his bed.

His and Evelyn's.

Rick felt a knot in the pit of his stomach, and before he could stop himself, he imagined what this room must look like, blue and dark at nighttime, and Evelyn there with her hair soft and undone, wearing a nightgown so thin he could see through it, or maybe nothing at all...

He imagined her perfectly naked, with a warm and shy smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. He imagined how she'd look on that bed, buried amid the pillows and blankets and soft, utter whiteness, anxiously inviting him in -

Beni coughed back a snort and jerked rigid and awake. Rick blinked the image hurriedly away, meeting Beni's confused and feral gaze.

"Why the hell are you in my bedroom?" Beni demanded, glancing distastefully at Rick's hand on his arm. "Let go of me."

Rick released grim and took a step back, staring at him as calmly as he could with the last ghostly edges of his daydream still in the room with them. He glanced self-consciously at the bed, as if Evelyn's wanton image was still there and Beni could see and know that he'd been thinking about his wife.

"I brought you home. Remember?" Rick said slowly.

Beni snorted, stumbling across the room to his bed and ripping the pillows off of the bed.

"I am going to sleep. Tell Evelyn to bring me some coffee later."

He crawled under the covers and buried his face in a pillow, and Rick let out a sigh. Before he had even crossed the room, Beni was snoring.

He glanced back once at the ruined bed, his stomach twisting with a sick feeling. The image was sour, ruined. There was no room for thoughts of Evelyn when her husband lay there, dozing drunkenly.

There was no room for her regardless, he remembered sharply.

Rick O'Connell might have been a scoundrel now and then, and he certainly enjoyed the presence of a beautiful woman. But he had no business thinking about another man's wife, and he knew it. He wasn't that kind of a guy. He had always figured there were enough single women in the world that he didn't need to be messing around with anyone's wife. He certainly wouldn't be messing around with the wife of his friend, either.

No, Evelyn belonged to Beni. And even if Beni was obnoxious, and even if he had been screwing around with other women, that still didn't give Rick any free passes to his wife. Rick wasn't that kind of a guy.

He wasn't.

But as he stepped back into the foyer again, and met Evelyn's expectant eyes, his breath caught in his throat, and he felt a sad kind of longing. That image of her in the bed came back before his eyes, bright and vivid, and he had to look away before she suspected that he was imagining her without her clothes on. Because...God.

My God.

She gave him a little smile. "Thank you."

He cleared his throat nervously. "No problem."

They looked at each other, and he awkwardly shifted his weight between his feet for a few minutes before at last slipping past her to the door. Just as his hand grasped the doorknob, Evelyn's voice piped up, faltering and anxious:

"What...is today, by the way?"

Rick met her gaze, and gave her a smile that didn't quite light up his eyes. "It's the, uh, anniversary of the day Beni saved Ardeth's life."

Evelyn frowned curiously. "Really?"

Rick nodded, a heavy feeling dropping in his gut. "Yeah. He's, ya know, a real hero." He swallowed hard and opened the door. He glanced at his feet when he told her, "You should be proud of him."


	24. a cup of coffee

_imer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Carnahan Manor: Cairo, 1925_

Evelyn took a breath as she balanced **a cup of coffee** in one hand and a bottle of aspirin in the other. It was after one o'clock and she had yet to see the creeping shadow of her husband up and about, or hear his whiny waking groan. And even though she'd been grateful for the hours he'd slept off his palenka, she was starting to get concerned.

She opened the door of her bedroom and peaked inside.

"Beni?" she called quietly. "Are you awake?"

A groan of Hungarian curses greeted her, muffled through the layers of pillows and sheets he was buried under. Against her better judgment, she girded up her patience and slipped inside.

"I brought you some coffee," she said in a tight, awkward voice. "Um, just how you like it...no cream, a bloody ton of sugar..."

He squinted out from the sheets and told her to leave it on the bedside table. And even though he was settling himself back down to sleep again, she sat down beside him, the cup still steaming in her hand.

After a moment, probably sensing her presence, he cracked open his eyes and stared at her again.

"What?"

Evelyn cleared her throat, shifting her weight stiffly as she crossed one leg over the other. The coffee cup rattled on its saucer.

"Can we be frank for a moment?"

Beni let out an incredulous snort. "Was that you being polite all this time?"

Evelyn huffed a little sigh. "I mean about Jemima."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What about her?"

She took a breath. "It's only...you seem to have taken this...her new marriage quite...hard."

Beni rolled his eyes. "I have not."

"You're drinking quite a lot."

"I always drink a lot."

Evelyn pressed her lips together thoughtfully. "Yes, but...well...You've been a tad more...more testy, I suppose, since she's left."

Beni's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps that is because I have become used to more sex, and you have not made up the difference."

Her hand tightened on the cup, and even though she'd really meant to be patient with him, she couldn't hold back a frustrated huff.

"You know, there is more to this than just you and what you're getting out of it. I know you think I'm just here for your personal satisfaction, but I am person, too. And I've made every effort to empathize with you and form some manner of relationship with you, but the more I try, the more evident it becomes that you don't have any interest in me at all except for that."

He glared back up at her steadily. "Oh, yes, _poor you,_ Evelyn. How sad and sorry we all are for you..."

"Stop it. I'm trying to have an actual conversation with you. The least you can do is attempt the same."

He pulled himself up to a sitting position, fighting a couple pillows out of his way with a few irritable Hungarian words before turning angrily back to her.

"Why don't you stop, Evelyn? Just stop. I don't care."

She placed the coffee and aspirin on the bedside table and crossed her arms. "What don't you care about?"

He let out a whiny groan. "Whatever you are going to say. I don't care."

Evelyn glared at him, mouth gaping in frustration and anger for the want of words she was just too helplessly furious to find. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to tell him to get out of her bed and leave her alone, forever. That she was finished - so, _so finished_ - with him and this pathetic excuse for a marriage.

But the only words that finally made it to her lips baffled her and - evidentially, from his expression - even him:

"Did you treat Jemima this way? No wonder she went and married that American even though any idiot can see it's your child she's pregnant with."

He stared at her. She stared cautiously back, her fingers tugging on her lip as if cajoling them for letting such cruel words slip past them. Evelyn never dreamed she could say such a thing to anyone, but he'd just made her so mad...all these months, he'd made her so unbelievably mad...

"Jemima liked me," he voice in a defensive voice that surprised her. "Just because you hate me does not mean everyone does."

Evelyn sighed. She was done protesting. She was done taking these baits and weakly assuring him that she didn't hate him. She did. And she didn't have the energy to pretend anymore.

"Alright," she said quietly.

Beni let out a loud, whiny sigh and reached for the bottle of aspirin. He poured what sounded like an unnecessary number of pills into the palm of his hand and chased them with a gulp of coffee.

"So. If that is all you wanted to talk about, you can go."

Evelyn let out a sigh, folding her hands in her lap. She stared down at the gold band around her finger distastefully, hating it like a shackle. She didn't look up at him.

"What are we doing?"

He raised his eyebrows, irritated and confused. "What?"

She pressed her lips together. "Is this just the way it's going to be between us? Forever?"

Beni let out a disgruntled sigh."Come on, Evelyn. What do you want from me?"

Evelyn looked at him, exasperated and desperate. "I just want to get along."

"Then stop being such a bitch," he told her, his eyes narrowing with cruelty and something like suspicion. "And try staying pregnant next time."

Her jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I know what you have done."

Evelyn sat up, her hands tightened into fists. She glared down at him furiously. "What have I done?" she demanded.

He glared back. "Oh, don't think that I do not know. How very convenient, you having that miscarriage - "

She sucked back a breath, the corner of her mouth twitching sharply. She could barely manage the words that shook past her lips.

She could have killed him.

"I did _not _have an abortion," she told him fiercely. "How dare you accuse me of something like that!"

"You don't want to have children with me."

She took a breath, and looked him in the eye. "No," she told him honestly. "No, I don't. But that doesn't mean I had an abortion. My God, what kind of person do you think I am?"

Beni snorted, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly. "How should I know what kind of person you are?"

Evelyn's hands flexed hard and white. "It was a miscarriage."

"Fine."

She shook her head, glancing away from him to the wall because she just couldn't stand another moment looking at his leering, weasely face.

"Fine," she retorted, throwing up her hands in frustration. "Just...fine."

Beni let out a groan, and neither of them saw the other roll their eyes. He pulled the covers over his head, muttering whiny Hungarian words to himself Evelyn didn't care to hear, even if she'd been able to understand them. She got up with a huff and snatched the mug and aspirin off of the bedside table, coffee sloshing onto the floor. She heard him shout a particularly venomous Hungarian word at the sound of the splatter, and he must have fought his way out of the covers again in time to see her storming across the room with his coffee in hand.

"Hey! Bring that back!"

Evelyn flung open the door without a word and hurried out, slamming it again behind her.

She was so angry, she could barely think past getting down the stairs. Somehow, in many swift and angry strides, she made it to the kitchen and dumped the coffee down the sink. She leaned against the sink, gripping it with trembling fingers. She couldn't take this anymore. How was she supposed to take this for the rest of her life? They hadn't even been married a year. Not even a year, and she felt trapped and suffocating.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't.

She stood there, glaring down at the few dark droplets of coffee pooled in the basin of the sink, and fought through the red haze in her mind. Surely in all his blatant and obnoxious misconduct, she had reason enough to leave him without causing a scandal or disgracing her father...

Except that her father, and virtually everyone in his generation, considered all divorce - for any reason - a disgrace.

She pressed her lips together and wracked her mind for something...for anything...The judge's daughter had gotten divorced a few years ago from a horrid man who'd been beating her senseless, and while everyone agreed it was for the best, more than a few people had expressed their misgivings at her father getting involved. _It wasn't his business any longer,_ she'd heard officials murmur, and her teeth clenched now at the memory. She blinked hard and tried to focus again. Beni wasn't beating her, regardless, and even if he was, it would take more than a few hospitalizations to warrant the proper approval for a divorce. There had, of course, been the Jemima Willoughby situation, but no one batted an eye at a man having an affair.

Now if _she_ was having an affair...

But that was ridiculous. Who would she have an affair with? Well, certainly she could find_ somebody_...or even just make the whole thing up. And that would probably goad Beni into a divorce. But it would cause an inescapable scandal, and her father's career would be ruined.

_Goodness,_ she realized with a touch of bitter sarcasm, _it would be easier to kill him than divorce him._

Evelyn let out a little snort at the thought of her masterminding some kind of...Holmesian plot to murder her husband. At last she sighed, leaning away from the sink and glancing aimlessly around the kitchen instead. Her eyes had just landed on the door when it opened, and Mara came bustling in. The older woman let out a little croak of surprise, but her expression was quickly replaced by a smile.

"What are you doing in here, dear one?"

Evelyn shrugged stiffly in a pitiful attempt to appear natural and calm. "Oh, nothing..."

Mara eyed her for a thoughtful moment, and then crossed nonchalantly over to the stove. "Would you like some tea?"

Evelyn shook her head. "No, thank you."

Mara opened the cupboard and raised an eyebrow. "Then what about some gin?"

Evelyn started to protest, but suddenly thought better of it and nodded her head, somewhat sheepishly. The maid's face remained mostly emotionless except for something sad and knowing in her eyes. She found an old-fashioned glass and poured her some gin, neat. Evelyn took the glass with a grateful smile, and struggled down the first sip.

"I don't know what to do anymore, Mara," she said at last.

Mara sighed, and pretended to occupy herself with finding vegetables for tonight's dinner. "Would you like to hear a story?"

Evelyn shrugged, finding her way to a chair and taking a seat. Her next sip of gin didn't burn as much.

"I was married when I was only fifteen years old."

Evelyn raised her eyebrows, but Mara's back was to her, and she didn't even glance back for a reaction.

"My parents were in debt to a terrible older man who owned our home, and he was threatening to throw us all on the streets. And I was the oldest daughter...You know how these things are arranged."

Evelyn's throat suddenly felt very dry. She gave a weak nod before remembering Mara couldn't see her.

"Anyway, we were married. And on the day of my wedding, I cried and cried. I said to my mother, 'How can I ever be the wife of such a man? I will never love him.' And she said to me, 'Dear one, you do not have to love him. He only has to love you, and you will be taken care of.' Well," Mara snorted. "It did not take long for me to realize that he would not ever love me. Such a man could not love at all. So instead of trying to be a wife, I left him alone. I did nothing, except what I had to...the cooking, the cleaning, the children. But I did not try to be his wife. I did not talk to him unless he talked to me. I left him alone. That is how we lived until the day he died."

Evelyn raised her eyebrows, letting out a dismal sigh. "Well. That's dreadful."

Mara shrugged her shoulders, and turned to look Evelyn in the eye very seriously. "Not at all. Do you know what a woman can do when she has a man's name to fall back on? I was able to learn English because of him. I went places single women cannot go. I did as I pleased."

She took her vegetables over to the sink to rinse. "Of course, by the time he died, he and put us into so much debt that I had nothing to live on, and I had to work. But I was still young. And I have had a good life, even if I was married to a terrible man."

Evelyn let out a sigh, knocking back the rest of her gin in one burning gulp. Her nose tingled and she winced. "It just seems so hopeless."

Mara offered her a sad smile. "You are much younger than you think you are. You have so much of your life that has nothing to do with him. You must not let him make you miserable. Do what you enjoy. He is already doing what he enjoys."

Evelyn nodded her head weakly, unable to drive the skeptical look from her eyes. She stared down into her empty glass with a distasteful wrinkle in her lip, and was vaguely aware of the maid crossing the room and putting a hand on her shoulder.

"After all, you do not have to love him. You only have to outlive him."

Despite herself, Evelyn chuckled, glancing up at Mara. "Well, with the way he smokes, I shouldn't have much trouble managing that."

The maid squeezed her shoulder, and reached down and took her empty glass. "Another?"

Evelyn shook her head. "I shouldn't. Not on an empty stomach."

Mara nodded, and gently ushered her out so that she could get to work on supper. The afternoon drifted before Evelyn's eyes in a strange and heavy haze. She'd only had the one drink, so she knew it wasn't the gin. She just felt...empty. Between arguing with Beni and having that drink, she felt drained of all emotion and want of it. Perhaps Mara had a point. Maybe the best thing she could do was ignore Beni and go about her business. Only...

Only she'd expected more from marriage. She'd wanted more. Unlike most women, she hadn't assumed marriage had to be a part of her future, and she hadn't wanted to get married unless it would...well...enrich her life somehow. She supposed she'd fancied being in love first. She'd at least hoped to marry someone who'd be a companion, who she'd want to share a life with.

Evelyn had never thought of herself as the sort of woman who_ had_ to get married.

She had been content on her own. She didn't have that strange, driving urge to be a mother that nearly every other woman she knew seemed to. She'd always wanted to be married someday, she supposed. But she wasn't desperate for it. She would have died a spinster before marrying someone just to get married. She'd pursue her studies. She'd do other things. She didn't need a husband. She didn't.

But then...

Then she actually did start to get "old," by societal standards. She could feel the way people looked at her, almost (but thankfully not quite) thirty. She could feel their disapproval and pity. She didn't care (or at least told herself she didn't care) if_ they_ all disapproved, but then her father had proposed the marriage with Beni. He'd told her all she had was a womb and a good name. And suddenly she wasn't so sure she could brave all of those disapproving glances - not while her father's eyes were among the watchers.

She shouldn't have married Beni. She'd known that before they'd even exchanged their vows. He wasn't what she wanted in a husband. This wasn't what she wanted in a marriage. But this is what she had, and perhaps the best thing - no, the_ only_ thing - she could do was to take Mara's advice and let him be. Her father thought she could contain Beni if only she was accomodating enough, but her father didn't know him. She couldn't try any more. There was nothing to try for.

The realization made her feel numb and void, and she drifted like a ghost to the table when supper was ready at last. She sat in her chair next to Beni, and said nothing. She didn't intentionally look at him or away from him. He asked nothing of her except to pass the butter, and she did so without a huff and without prodding him for some show of politeness.

They got into bed together in the quiet and the dark, and he rolled over on his side and didn't say anything to her. She fell asleep with a strange kind of ease in the cool, black room.


	25. a phone call

_Author's Note: Well, everyone, we're winding down. Can you believe it? Only like...three-ish more chapters to go! And just in time, because I finished the revision of _And Love Thee After_ today! Woo! It's really not super-exciting; if you've read it before, you can probably skip it. It was mostly just grammatical changes, and a few congruency things; I made Beni a little whinier and everyone a little less oblivious to his "roughness," and there's a few references to Jemima tossed here and there. Nothing special. Just the same though, that's done, this is almost done, and then you can look for the follow-up (which is also almost done), _Exeunt_. And then the last two chapters of _It Ain't Me, Babe_, and then...I guess I die of sadness, 'cause I have nothing else planned for this universe. Maaaaybe a Rick/Evy one-shot? There's nothing specific right now. So probably nothing. Probably I'll have to focus a little more on _Enchantress,_ and you know, write that next chapter of _Wealthy Bastards_. _

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Carnahan Manor: Cairo, 1925_

"**a phone call** for you, sir."

Nigel Carnahan glanced up from his book with a curious frown, and left the quiet of the parlor for the even quieter darkness of his study. He flipped a light and picked up the receiver from where it lay on the desk.

"Hello?"

"Nigel," Lord Chamberlain sighed on the other end, somehow managing to sound both bored and impatient at the same time. "How are you this evening? Forgive me for calling at this hour - "

"Not at all," Nigel told him, hoping his voice didn't sound as suspicious as his face surely looked. He glanced back towards the hallway and asked with a kind of brisk nonchalance, "Do what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?"

Chamberlain cleared his throat. He sounded haughtier than he should have when he said, "We've run into a bit of a dilemma with this rebel business."

Lord Carnahan sucked back a breath, and asked evenly, "Oh? What sort of dilemma?"

"Well," Chamberlain said. "I don't suppose I could persuade you to send General Bay and his men without your son-in-law."

Nigel scoffed. "Did you fail to infer that shipping him off to Alexandria was my only motivation for lending you General Bay in the first place?"

"Hardly."

Nigel let out a long sigh, glancing at the ceiling. "So what's the trouble, then?"

"It seems," Chamberlain said, "that certain government officials are a tad...should we say, squeamish? At the possibility of Major Gabor inspiring acts of vengeful insurgence."

"Ah."

"They'd be much more comfortable if Major Gabor wasn't among the men at all."

Nigel raised his eyebrows. "Allen, I don't believe I have to tell you that that simply won't do."

"Yes, I know," Chamberlain said shortly. "But I don't believe_ I_ have to tell you that the situation here in Alexandria is considerably more precarious than what you're facing down there."

Nigel let out a short, mocking laugh. "You do realize that the reason we're so stable here is _because_ of Major Gabor's efforts?"

"I've told them as much. They're quite taken with the notion that General Bay might be effective at keeping the peace, since he's...forgive me, 'one of them.' But I'm afraid they see your son-in-law as an undermining factor to the overall goal."

Nigel sighed.

"It sends a mixed message," Chamberlain said.

Lord Carnahan's mouth twisted thoughtfully, and he stared down at the wood grain in his desk, running his fingers over it thoughtfully.

"This is most disappointing, Allen," he said at last in his flat, colorless voice.

"Yes, I know."

Nigel rubbed his chin, his brow furrowed in consternation. He waited. Even though he was eager to get Beni out of his home and his city, Chamberlain by and large needed him more than he needed Chamberlain. There were a dozen ways to get Beni out from under his roof; but there were blessed few ways of dealing with the rebels, and the situation in Alexandria was exponentially more dire.

So he waited. Allen was the one who would have to come up with a compromise.

At last he heard Chamberlain sigh. "I suppose I can convince them that Major Gabor is a necessary precaution...But they really can't think he's anyone of importance to Bay's strategy. I don't suppose he's done anything worthy of demotion lately?"

Nigel chuckled wearily. "It's funny you mention that. He's actually up for a promotion."

"Good God, don't promote him."

Lord Chamberlain let out a sigh, glancing thoughtfully towards the door. It had happened only a few days ago. Lieutenant Rashid was making the long ride back to wherever it was the Med-Jai were encamped in the desert, and he was ambushed by a band of desert warrior. Tauregs, Bedouins...whomever they were, he was outnumbered and aging and they cut him down, just the way Ardeth would have surely been cut down if not for Beni taking that shot. Ardeth was the one who found him. Ardeth, who would have been riding with him under normal circumstances, but had to stay late that afternoon. He'd taken it hard, which was as much as could be expected. Lord Carnahan had allowed him the appropriate leave, and no one had seen him in days. Presumably, he was spending the time with his people in mourning.

"He isn't actually mine to promote," Nigel reminded pointedly, "but I'll have the necessary conversations with General Bay."

Chamberlain sighed in what sounded like a satisfied way. "Very well, then. You may consider the matter settled. I've been making the proper arrangements in spite of all this blather about Gabor. We're ready when you are."

Lord Carnahan nodded his head for a moment before remembering that Chamberlain couldn't see him. "We'll be in contact. Good night, Allen."

"Good night."

Nigel hung up the phone and stretched his arms over his head, glancing at the clock with a frown. He was thinking about going to bed as he lumbered down the hallway, back to the parlor. Evelyn was just where he had left her, curled up on the couch with a book open in her lap. To his surprise, Beni was still where he'd left him, sitting in the chair opposite her with the newspaper clutched between his hands. At some point during his phone call with Lord Chamberlain, Delphine had joined them, looking refreshed from a shower but still weary from her trip. She had a fashion magazine she'd probably bought on the ship earlier that day, but she wasn't reading it. No one in the room was looking at the words on the pages before them.

Evelyn glanced at him briefly before turning her attention back to the man in the middle of the room.

Because there was a man, in the middle of the room.

Nigel stared at their late-night guest in astonishment. It had been a long time since he'd seen Ardeth Bay in his traditional Med-Jai robes; he discouraged it, actually, because the British citizens of Cairo found them off-putting. But Ardeth hadn't been in Cairo, not for a while. He stood there in his robes, and even though he'd clearly washed himself from mourning, Nigel could still see the grayish traces of ash along his jaw and the back of his neck. He stood there trembling with wide, glazed eyes, staring at Beni with the most disconcerting look on his face.

Beni sat stiffly in his chair, frozen with fear and confusion, and stared back because he couldn't very well look away. His throat kept jerking with nervous swallows.

"General Bay," Nigel attempted in his most neutral voice, but Ardeth barely glanced at him. He was focused entirely on Beni.

All of the sudden, he strode across the room and pulled Beni out of the chair. The thin, rigid man looked as if he might break in half when Ardeth wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace. He murmured something in Arabic, but Beni didn't seem any more comfortable or relieved by the words. He glanced around helplessly, and his mouth gaped for something to say in response. He flinched, and his eyes burned with something like anger when Ardeth kissed him hard on both cheeks. He kept murmuring a word that Nigel recognized as "thank you," and it was all Beni could do to weakly nod his head.

At last Ardeth released him and took a step back, still staring at him with a more intense sort of kindness than anyone had ever had while looking at Beni Gabor, and Beni stood there twitching in shock from this startling show of gratitude, five years after the fact.

"I owe you my life," Ardeth said quietly, and everyone in the room seemed relieved to hear him speak in English. "I owe you everything. That would have been me..." And the vision of Rashid, bloody and lifeless in the sand must have flashed before his eyes again, because he had to choke back a sob, "That would have been me..."

Beni nodded his head and took a few awkward steps back from Ardeth, eyeing his chair longingly. Ardeth bowed his head, and then blinked hard, looking around the room as if noticing for the first time that anyone else was even there. He straightened his shoulders and attempted to push away the heavy emotions that lined his face. He looked at Nigel in something like embarrassment.

"Forgive me for disrupting your evening," he said hurriedly. "Good night."

Before anyone could politely (though weakly) assure him that he'd done no such thing, he turned and strode out of the room, brushing past Jonathan, whom Nigel just noticed had been standing there the whole time. Jonathan glanced at them all in confusion briefly before following after Ardeth and getting the door.

Everyone stared at Beni.

"What on earth was that?" Evelyn asked.

Beni shook his head, slowly lowering himself back into his chair. He rubbed at the side of his face irritably, as if trying to wipe off the traces of Ardeth's lips, and stared at the floor in perplexity.

"He thanked me for saving his life," Beni said. After a moment, a grin started to creep up the sides of his face, and when he looked up, his eyes were smug and excited. He found his newspaper again and leaned back in his chair happily. He might have tried to whistle as he stared at the paper without reading it, his whole body anxious with some kind of fortunate realization. He glanced over at Evelyn, knowing and arrogant: "He owes me everything, did you hear that?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Yes, I heard."

"Everything," Beni repeated, a smirk twitching in the corner of his mouth.

He was the happiest Nigel had ever seen him.


	26. quite alright

_Author's Note: Confession: I've been putting off writing these last few chapters. What can I say? It's a fun story. But then I started _Someone Like You_, and I started to feel lame about not even having the prequel done. So, here it comes. Last 2-3 chapters (not sure which yet...)._

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Base: Cairo, 1925_

"Are you...**quite alright**, _mon cher?"_

Ardeth sucked in a breath, and slowly nodded his head. She sat on the edge of the desk, dangling her pretty legs over the edge and kicking her heel anxiously. But he wasn't looking at her legs. He stared hard at his hands folded on the desk. She chewed on her bottom lip, eyeing his hands in contemplation.

At last he looked up, and her eyes darted readily to meet his. "He was a good man. He had a family."

She nodded her head.

His brow furrowed, and he shook his head in something like shock. He stared up at her with dark, pained eyes. "I do not think I have told you I was previously married."

Delphine flinched, and she couldn't help the frown on her face. It took her several moments to collect herself - to quiet her balking expression and stammer, "N-no. You did not tell me that."

He could tell by the suspicious way her eyes narrowed that she wasn't pleased. He took a breath, and continued to stare up at her in his earnest, melancholy way.

"I was a very young man," he let out something like a scoff, or a humorless chuckle. "She was a very young girl. She was a member of my tribe, and we had been betrothed from birth."

Delphine's body was very stiff as she listened; she was barely able to nod her head from the tension that had suddenly grabbed hold of her.

"We were married less than a year," he told her. "She was very weak. She died giving birth to a child who was already dead."

She sucked back a gasp, and her eyes softened. She reached a hand to take his, but couldn't quite do it. Her fingertips hovered over the dark tattoos across his knuckles, trembling just there in the space between them.

"That's terrible," she whispered.

Ardeth let out a sigh. "I did not want to remarry after that. I did not love her, exactly..." He stared back at her, his throat jerking with something like nervousness. She felt a flinching pain within her to see the tears welling in his eyes. "But I could not bear for such a thing to happen to a woman I loved..." He cleared his throat gruffly, and looked away. "I suppose I felt I had done it to her."

Delphine shook her head, and her hand clasped about his at last. "You did nothing."

He looked up. "Yes. I know. But knowing and feeling are different things."

She pressed her lips together, gazing back at him with an overwhelming kind of sympathy that felt like pity to him. He pulled his hand out from under hers and put it over top. His fingers flexed around her hand and gave them an emphatic squeeze. He shook his head sadly.

"I am so frightened for you, Delphine," he admitted sadly. His eyes beseeched her, but she could only stare back in confusion. "You feel like a ghost to me sometimes. Like her ghost. And I find myself terrified that one day you too will slip away from me..."

Delphine shook her head and leaned closer. "Ardeth, I will never leave you."

He looked up at her with a dark gaze brimming full of things she couldn't know; of things that made her worry for him. He looked up at her and reached a hand to her face, and she leaned down to kiss him. She was desperate to comfort him in the midst of these ghosts and demons, to do what little she could do to assure him that she was _here_. She wasn't a ghost and she wouldn't be. She was -

A heavy knock on the door startled them both away before their lips could meet. She gazed at him frantically, and opened her mouth to say something. But a voice from the other side of the door stopped her breath in her throat:

"General Bay. A word, if you might."

Her stomach dropped at the sound of her uncle's voice. She met Ardeth's eyes, wide and hopeless as her own, and followed his gesture to a closet behind them. She nodded her head, and slipped off of the desk as quickly and quietly as she could. She didn't make a sound as she stole across the floor and into the safety of the dark little room.

Ardeth took a deep breath, and forced himself to seem nonchalant as he strode across the room and opened the door. If Lord Carnahan saw his hands shaking, he never let on. Nigel pushed past him with the sort of impatience that was never characteristic of him, and Ardeth frowned as he closed the door behind him. Nigel walked straight to the chair situated across from Ardeth's desk, but never sat in it. He whirled around suddenly, meeting Ardeth's gaze with a startling urgency.

"General Bay, I'm afraid I need to be very frank for a moment."

Ardeth's body tensed, but he nodded his head. He tried to swallow his nervousness. He was sure, from the gray severity of Nigel's stare, that his secret with Delphine had been uncovered. So he tried to stand tall and braced himself for confrontation like a man.

"As we're both aware, the untimely death of your Lt. Rashid has opened up the position to your majors. I don't suppose you've settled on whom you intend to promote?"

Ardeth was too surprised by his question to be relieved. He frowned in confusion. "Major Gabor is the most qualified..." he started to say.

Nigel's eyes widened emergently. His voice was tight and demanding, "You'll not be promoting him."

Ardeth blinked. "Forgive me, Lord Carnahan, but I thought we had agreed that I would run this squadron as I saw fit."

Nigel nodded his head, but his expression was unmoved.

"So we had," he said carefully. "But I'm afraid recent events have forced me to stick my nose where, under normal circumstances, it wouldn't belong." He gestured at Ardeth's chair and told him, "Have a seat."

Ardeth didn't appreciate being offered a seat in his own office, but he could tell this was a matter of importance, and he did as he was told. He sat down and folded his hands on his desk, and for a fleeting moment he was reminded of Delphine still crouching in his broom closet before Nigel's urgent and commanding eyes took his attention back. He sat and looked up at Lord Carnahan as he paced about the room, all the while telling him about the rebel situation in Alexandria, and how he and his men were being commissioned to police the city indefinitely.

"But sir, my men have families - their whole lives are here in Cairo - "

Nigel gazed back at him in half-lidded irritation. "The pay is good. They'll see it's worth the inconvenience."

Ardeth met his eyes evenly. "And what about _my_ men?"

Nigel snorted. "Forgive me, but aren't the Med-Jai a nomadic people?"

Ardeth let out a heavy sigh. He was desperate to explain that the Med-Jai were arranged in a complex patchwork of tribes around various sites of ancient importance; that his tribe had been stationed near Hamunaptra for thousands of years, and that he couldn't possibly expect them all to pick up and move hundreds of miles north to Alexandria. But that matter was apparently already settled for Lord Nigel Carnahan, and he dismissed the topic with a characteristically British flick of his hand. Ardeth grumbled a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest as Nigel moved briskly on to the matter with Beni and the promotion. He blathered on for a while about politics and some meaningless, supposedly delicate situation with Alexandria's government.

The discomfort of a few British politicians monumental. But uprooting his entire tribe was a trifle, barely worthy of a footnote.

"Sir, I cannot move my tribe to Alexandria," he said all of the sudden, only vaguely aware that he'd interrupted Lord Carnahan mid-sentence.

Nigel stopped abruptly, shaking his head in something like bewilderment. "I'm sorry?"

Ardeth stared back into his vexed eyes steadily. "You are asking me to upset thousands of years of my people's traditional migratory routes..."

Nigel's gaze hardened, cold and metallic. "Nobody one is_ asking_ you anything, Ardeth."

Ardeth blinked. He stared back at Lord Carnahan, too shocked and angry to speak. His mouth hung open, perplexed and irritated by the Englishman's imperious expression. They watched one another for a moment, and then Nigel glanced down, folding his hands in front of him in a manner he must have thought was gracious.

"It appears I've upset you," Nigel said in an unreadable tone. "How might I make amends?"

Ardeth let out a sigh, and straightened his shoulders. "My tribe cannot move all the way to Alexandria. It interferes with other branches of our tribe. But we can spare some men, for a finite amount of time."

Nigel shrugged. "If you are willing to periodically trade out men, I am more than willing to fund their journeys."

Ardeth's brow furrowed, and he thought this over. "Every three months."

Nigel raised an eyebrow. "Every six months."

Ardeth pursed his lips, and Nigel held up his hands. "Every four months. I can't afford anything more frequent."

Ardeth knew that was a lie, but he nodded his head anyway. Asking his men to do four-month stints in Alexandria wasn't so unreasonable. And besides, the less frequently troops were refreshed, the less he'd have to deal with keeping everyone up to task.

He nodded his head, and held out his hand. Nigel gave it a shake, but his face was set in an expectant frown.

"Now. Concerning Major Gabor...?"

Ardeth let out a sigh, glancing down at his desk for a moment. He gave Lord Carnahan a stiff shrug. "As I said, he is the most qualified," Ardeth started slowly. He glanced up at Nigel. "And I believe it is no secret that I am personally in his debt..."

Lord Carnahan raised his eyebrows, and waited.

Ardeth sighed again. "But I agree that it is in the best interests of our purpose that he remain in his station."

Nigel smiled his tight-lipped smile.

"But he will be expecting it," Ardeth added regrettably.

Lord Carnahan scoffed, twisting his wrist in a dismissive wave of his hand. "He'll get over it."

Ardeth nodded his head slowly in the short but uncomfortable silence that followed. After a moment, he asked, "How soon will we be leaving?"

Nigel raised his eyebrows. "How soon might you be ready, my good son?"

Ardeth let out a sigh, and sat up a little in his chair. "We can be ready whenever it is convenient. But if I have any say in the manner, I would like to give my men a month to make the proper arrangements."

Lord Carnahan shrugged, a thoughtful frown on his face. "I'll see what I can do."

He bid Ardeth good afternoon with a little nod of his head, and went briskly on his way. When the door clicked shut behind him, Ardeth breathed a sigh of relief and turned quickly back to the closet door behind him. He watched it creak open, and heard Delphine whisper breathlessly:

"Is he gone?"

"Yes."

She slipped out, running a trembling hand through her hair. "I held my breath the entire time," she said quietly. "I thought for sure he would hear me..."

Ardeth shook his head. "I think he was too focused on his task."

She nodded, glancing at the door her uncle had just left through. "You are going to Alexandria at the end of the month?"

He nodded his head slowly, a tired sigh slipping through his lips. "At the latest."

Her mouth jerked with a disappointed frown. "But I just got back."

He reached over and took her hand. He stared up at her until she looked him in the eye with a curious and hopeful smile.

"I want you to go with me," he told her.

Delphine's throat jerked with an anxious swallow. "There is no reason for me to go, unless I am..."

"Unless you are my wife," he said. She nodded. He glanced down at their hands, lifting hers to his lips. He pressed a kiss between her knuckles, and then looked up into her eyes with an amused and thoughtful smile. "Then you will have to be my wife, won't you?"


	27. in a violent rush

_Author's Note: So here we are, the penultimate chapter. Well, I think it's the penultimate chapter. Sometimes chapters have a way of not tying up at the end the way I'd like. Mostly, I just wanted to use the world "penultimate." The opportunity doesn't come around just every day. You gotta carpe diem that shit._

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Carnahan Manor: Cairo, 1925_

The headline spilled across the top of the newspaper **in a violent rush**, and Beni tried to keep his lips from moving as he deciphered the words one by one. He generally didn't like to read in front of other people, seeing as how all of his in-laws had practically been born literate, but his father-in-law seemed too absorbed in penning a speech or memo or some other mildly important government business to pay him any mind at all. Beni sighed and took a sip from the coffee he was now certain Mara hadn't spiked with vodka as he'd requested, and turned his attention back to the headline.

The first word had been a real bitch, but after some heavy concentration, he'd finally made out _Alexandria. _The next word he recognized immediately from suspect dossiers at work: _bombing._ He frowned for a moment over the next word, before at last shrugging away its importance altogether. He figured he already knew everything he needed to know about the article. So there'd been a bombing in Alexandria. Judging by the picture they'd inserted alongside the article, some buildings he couldn't possibly find it in himself to care about had been decimated. British people must have died, or else they wouldn't have run the story as a headliner at all.

He took another sip of coffee and, probably in an effort to make Nigel think he'd already finished reading the article in its entirety, declared:

"Some mess in Alexandria, eh?"

His father-in-law let out a sigh and adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Bloody mess," he murmured without glancing up from his papers.

Beni leaned back in his chair, and said off-handedly, "It seems as if they could use their own General Bay."

Nigel looked up from the paper and started to say something, but bit back the words. He gave Beni a satisfied-looking smile. "You might be right about that, my good son."

Beni couldn't help the look of surprise that certainly crossed his face at Nigel's genuine tone. He eyed him suspiciously for a moment, and then said with a kind of caution:

"Perhaps they could use the actual General Bay."

Lord Carnahan tilted his head to the side and put his pen down. "You mean the lot of you could...tidy up a bit in Alexandria?"

Beni frowned thoughtfully. Try as he might, he couldn't measure the way his father-in-law seemed to be happily thinking this suggestion over, and the longer they sat there, the more smug Beni became. Well it _was_ a good suggestion, after all.

Nigel subdued a smile, and chuckled to himself at his own private joke, and said, "Well. I'll have to run that by Allen Chamberlain."

Beni didn't even bother hiding a smirk in his cup of coffee. He spent the week smirking, actually.

He smirked all the way to work a few days later, where he was greeted with an array of weary or spiteful glances; ever since Ardeth had shown up in the Carnahan's parlor and put on such a (dare he call it arduous?) display, Beni had reached a brand new level of insufferable buffoonery. And everyone was dreading the inevitable announcement of his promotion to lieutenant. For his own part, Beni didn't care how much they were dreading it. In a way, that made the certainty of the promotion all the more satisfying. There was nothing quite like knowing people had to salute him and respect him and call him sir no matter how he treated them. Even big, brave, beloved O'Connell would have to take orders from him with a stiff face. And if this Alexandria thing worked out, he'd have even more freedom. He would live in his own house and come home whenever he felt like it. The servants would have to respect him and put vodka in his coffee when he asked for it. He could even set up a mistress in an apartment, if he wanted to...

But he probably wouldn't want to. He'd learned well enough from Jemima. Having a mistress was just like having another wife who didn't have to stay faithful to him. Evelyn might have been a pain in the ass, and downright boring in bed, but at least there was only one of her to deal with. He'd spend his time with clean, expensive prostitutes instead. No hassle there.

No unexpected babies.

No unexpected marriages.

No sudden trips to America forever.

He scoffed. He hoped she was as sick and miserable as his mother had been when she was pregnant with his younger sister, Piri. His mother had spent weeks and weeks in bed moaning, threatening all of them that she'd sell them off to the Gypsies if they didn't keep quiet. It wasn't even a hollow threat. There were actual Gypsies in the neighborhood at the time, parked out on some vacant lot in ramshackle tents. They probably would have bought Beni and his sister and stepbrothers, too. But his mother had been too sick and lazy to get out of bed, anyway. That was the summer Beni and his stepbrothers stole an entire case of palenka, and he got so drunk at eight years old that they thought he died and left him passed out on the sidewalk all night because they were too frightened to know what else to do. Too frightened, and he wasn't their real brother, anyway.

At least it was summer.

That was two months before Piri's father was killed by the mugger, and Beni's mother went crawling back to his father and begged him to come home, even though she was pregnant with someone else's child. His father always said he loved her. He always said he did. But he didn't really love anyone. And he left again and a new man came in again and his mother got pregnant again, because that's just what she did. That's what that miserable, pathetic woman always did, saying to herself, _This one will stay. This man has to stay. I'm having his child and he'll have to stay. _None of them stayed. None of them_ had_ to stay. She wasn't worth putting up with, and Beni learned.

Nobody stays. Nobody has to stay.

A strange and lonely chill took hold of him just then, and he found himself blinking hard against the glazed way he'd been staring at a non-particular spot on his desk. He frowned at the desk and quickly stood up, finding a glass of water to swallow away the dry feeling in his throat.

What was he just thinking about?

He finished off his water and decided it didn't matter, even though the lingering coldness made him uneasy. He crossed the room and absentmindedly turned off the fan. Just then his door opened just enough for O'Connell's head to pop in.

"Hey, you got a sec?"

Beni let out a yelp of surprise and shot Rick a hostile glare. "You cannot knock?"

Rick rolled his eyes and offered a gruff, "Sorry." He told him, "Ardeth wants to see us in his office."

Beni brightened up immediately, and he left those stale memories on the desk where they belonged, forgotten among the stacks of other things he couldn't quite read. He trotted happily after O'Connell, a smug and expectant look on his face as they stepped into Ardeth's office and closed the door behind them.

Ardeth wouldn't quite look at him, and the strained smile on his face was so pathetically false that Beni wondered why he even bothered with it. No one expected Ardeth Bay to smile.

"Thank you for coming," he told them quietly, folding his hands in front of him on his desk. "Please sit down."

Rick dropped his weight into a chair, as he had a habit of doing, and Beni slipped into the one next to him in his sneaking sort of way. Ardeth took a breath and glanced between the two of them with a blank and professional expression he might have learned from Nigel Carnahan. Or he might have always had it.

"Lord Carnahan has made the decision to send our unit to Alexandria to act as military police."

Rick leaned back in surprise, crossing his arms over his chest. "Really?"

Ardeth nodded. Beni continued to stare forward, tense and expectant, but he was vaguely aware of Rick's curious gaze on his face.

"Did you know about this already?"

Beni shot an impatient glare in his direction and shrugged him off.

"When?" Rick asked.

Ardeth sighed, reaching a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose wearily. "Originally, in about a month..."

Rick raised his eyebrows. "But?"

"But now," Ardeth said, "because of that terrible bombing a few days ago, we are being asked to leave immediately."

"How immediately?"

Ardeth met his eyes with something like regret. "Tomorrow."

_"Tomorrow?"_

Ardeth let out another sigh and nodded. Rick shook his head in shock.

"How are we supposed to get this entire unit ready to go by tomorrow?" Rick demanded.

Ardeth launched into a long and rushed explanation of their transportation arrangements, which included the mention and touching of several lists on his desk. Beni really wasn't paying any attention. God, leave it to O'Connell. Finally, after nearly three weeks of the position sitting empty, Ardeth was at last going to officially promote him. And here was O'Connell, hashing out stupid details like how to get a group of adult men to Alexandria, dragging out the discussion in tedium because he was probably too stupid to see that this was Beni's moment.

_Finally_ Ardeth finished and Rick gave a stiff shrug in return. He mumbled something about wishing there was more time to prepare.

"Oh, what do you need to prepare for?" Beni retorted irritably._ "I'm_ the one with a wife, and you don't hear me complaining."

Rick rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you know, some of us have stuff like rent and giving notice to worry about, alright? A lot of the men do..."

Beni huffed an impatient sigh. "You will make it work."

Ardeth sighed and offered Rick a genuine and apologetic look. "The circumstances are regrettable, and I wish there was something I could do to buy time. The situation in Alexandria is precarious. And it is difficult to negotiate with people in fear."

Rick glanced down, and Beni fought the urge to roll his eyes. There it was. That's all it took to leash an idiot like O'Connell. Remind the man that he was going to get to be a hero, and there he was, standing ready with a pistol in each fist.

"Now," Ardeth said, taking a breath. "I called both of you in because I wanted you to hear, together, who will be taking the vacant lieutenant position and why."

Beni sat up anxiously. Rick was unmoved.

"Major Gabor," Ardeth said, looking at him with his dark and trustworthy eyes. "With Lt. Rashid's passing, I received a vivid and jarring reminder of something that no doubt occurs to me almost every day. I would not still be alive were it not for you. You are a good man, and I am honored to call you my friend. So I truly hope you do not think me in any way ungrateful for choosing to promote Major O'Connell."

Rick jerked up in his seat, his eyes wide and flabbergasted. He was too surprised to say anything more than, "What?"

Beni couldn't even manage that much. He sat there perfectly still with his mouth frozen in a leering, forced grin because his mind was much too busy with a thousand red-hot Hungarian words to remember any in English or any other language.

He never did hear Ardeth's explanation about the position. And he didn't care. He stood up and left the room, probably while Ardeth was still talking. Definitely while Ardeth was still talking, because he heard his name, and then an English word he didn't have determination to decipher right then.

_Stay._

He ignored it and stormed through the door and down the hall, shoving past soldiers and more English words. He was too angry for any of them. He was too angry for anything and everything, and he wasn't going to stay another second at this goddamned base.

He wasn't going to stay. He didn't have to stay.

Suddenly he was outside in the heat. Suddenly he was at his car, throwing open the door and getting in. Suddenly he was speeding down the street, taking turns without a thought. He trusted he was going back home, because he didn't want to think about it. He couldn't think about anything, except Ardeth's waffling excuses and stupid honest eyes.

That sand-eating son of a bitch.

Promote O'Connell? What was that, the tattooed bastard's idea of a joke? Beni had six months on O'Connell; he'd been at his post the longest. He deserved the position. And - and now, they were going to _Alexandria_, to deal with _rebels,_ and he still thought O'Connell should be the lieutenant? O'Connell didn't have any experience with rebels. Not like Beni's experience. Maybe the men liked him...but he had no experience with rebels.

...Was that what this was about? Being liked?

Beni scoffed, pulling into the drive and throwing the car into park. It wasn't until he glanced up at the mansion looming before him that he realized he'd driven to the Willoughby House.

_"Fuck me,"_ he muttered, his mind still a blood-colored mess of Hungarian. He scowled up at that enormous white mansion, and his heart thudded away in his chest. His hands flexed on the steering wheel, and it was just then that he remembered he had a flask in his pocket.

What difference did it make if the men liked O'Connell better? The men were assholes. And politeness counted for nothing. Beni had spent his entire life kissing everyone's ass just to keep from getting beaten or worse; he had a position and power now, and he wasn't going to waste his time with that. Not on people who were below him. Not on anybody. They didn't like him when he was brown-nosing, and they didn't like him when he was rude.

So what fucking difference did it make if he was liked?

He gulped down vodka and kept glaring at that house, a blinding kind of white in the sun.

That's what it was, though. That's what it _always_ was, when it came to people like O'Connell. No one cared that O'Connell was an idiot, because _they liked him_. He could be kind or sarcastic or downright mean, and no one cared. People like O'Connell could behave how they wanted, because at the end of the day, everyone liked them. He was big and heroic and handsome and American. And - and they thought he cared. They_ all_ thought he cared. Rick O'Connell didn't care. He was the same as them. Everyone was the same. If the odds were stacked up against him, he'd abandon them. He'd cut them loose. Because that's the way people are.

Beni had done enough interrogations to know. When it came down to it, every person is willing to let everything go in favor of their own interests.

_You know you can leave this room. Just give me their names._

_Just tell me where they are hiding._

_Just tell me where they are meeting._

_Just tell me what I need to know. You don't have to stay. No one _has_ to stay._

It wasn't about being liked. It didn't matter. Ardeth should know that. He should see that. Even the people you like go away. Even those. It wasn't about being liked. It wasn't about trusting someone to stay against all odds. It was about doing a job, and Beni was good at it. He was _good_ at it. And he'd stayed, longer than he'd ever stayed at a legitimate job in his life. He'd stayed, and he had expected Ardeth to stay true as well. He'd expected Ardeth to do what was logical and give him what he was owed. That's how it worked.

Instead Ardeth had left him in his current position. He'd betrayed him, and over what? Over _liking_ somebody.

_I owe you this but I like him better._

_I'm not staying. I don't have to stay._

His flask was empty and the paint on the house was hurting his eyes. Without a thought, he tossed the flask out the window and threw the car into drive, speeding away from that damned house he'd wasted too much time at, with a woman who'd lied to him and betrayed him and left.

_I owe you this but I like him better._

_I'm not staying. I don't have to stay._

He didn't know why he bothered being some version of faithful to Jemima. He could have gone and seen prostitutes, or anyone else who would have him. He should have. He supposed she was free and easy.

That was probably it.

She was free and easy and she really did seem to like him, which he admittedly didn't run into every day with either sex, but especially women. She never pretended like she didn't like him or want him. She was enthusiastic and eager and always begged him to come back. She never acted like she was doing him a favor...

Not until she got pregnant, anyway.

Then he was supposed to thank her for lying to him and getting into bed with someone else. _I'm taking care of your problem. For you, _she said. Like he owed her. He didn't owe her.

Suddenly he was home again, parked in front of the Carnahan Manor, sheltered from the sun by a couple fig trees. He glared at the front door and hated it. He hated everything about this stupid, fancy, pretentious world. He hated these nice clean houses and these nice clean women and his nice clean uniform. Fuck it and all of them. Everything was a lie. _Speak English and you can join us. Speak English _well_ and you can join us. Follow orders and you can join us. Wash up and you can join us. Behave yourself and you can join us. Could you wash up again? And is there anything at all you might do about that accent?_

They didn't like him and they didn't want him among them. But goddamn it, _it wasn't about being liked_.

He blinked heavily and wavered as he got out of the car.

God, he was drunker than he thought.

But not drunk enough. Not for this.

Somehow he made it inside, and somehow he managed to find a bottle of gin. Mara must have hid the vodka from him...But somehow he managed to be inside on the sofa, drinking and drinking and drinking until he really couldn't tell that it wasn't vodka.

"Are you quite alright?" Evelyn's voice sounded like it was coming through a tunnel. He squinted up at her and pretended not to hear. She tried to wrestle the bottle from his hands and he told her to go to hell. He _thought_ he told her in English, but he wasn't sure. It hadn't been Hungarian. Maybe German?

The next thing he knew the sun was lower and he didn't have the bottle anymore. He swore he heard Rick O'Connell's voice, but he must have been sleeping.

Then it was dark. Then Evelyn was back, shifting her weight nervously, offering him a clear, icy glass and aspirin. He took both gratefully, and grimaced after his first swallow from the glass.

"This is not vodka."

"Of course not. It's water."

He groaned and drank it anyway, even though he didn't want to. He had a dark, heavy headache growing just behind his ears and he liked it being there. It made his head feel heavy when he tried to sit up.

"Maybe you should go to bed."

"I'm fine."

He wasn't fine, and he did want to go to bed. But then he suddenly didn't want to go to bed, just because she'd told him to. And then it was suppertime and he was rocking a little in his seat, and Evelyn was eyeing him nervously. She leaned close to him, in a way she never did, so she must have actually been concerned. She whispered in his ear:

"Are you certain you'd rather not just turn in for the night?"

He waved her off and busied himself with wine instead. He gulped it back and looked across the table and frowned.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was invited," Rick O'Connell told him.

Beni turned and glared at his father-in-law. "What the hell is he doing here?"

"I invited him."

"Perhaps you should go to bed - "

He had another glass of wine and didn't touch his supper. Who did Rick O'Connell think he was, coming to supper at his table? Wasn't it bad enough he had to steal his promotion right out from under him? He didn't know what kind of sneaky shit the bastard had been up to, but nobody out-sneaks Beni Gabor, do you hear me? Nobody -

"Really, I think you should go to bed now!"

He blinked hard at Evelyn's distraught little face. She could go to hell.

"Don't speak to me that way."

He'd speak to her how he wanted to. He'd tell them all...all of them...they could all...go...to...

"Do you want me to take him upstairs?"

"With all due respect, Lt. O'Connell, I don't really think you're the proper person..."

Lieutenant O'Connell. Were they still telling that awful joke?

"How's about we get you up to bed, chap?"

No. He wasn't tired. He wasn't drunk.

"Then let's have a drink, eh?"

"Jonathan!"

"Calm down, Evy. We'll just go to a bar, get a bit of that cool night air in his system."

"I'm not sure that a bar is the best place for him..."

"I'll get him an Irish coffee, you know...minus the Irish."

Fuck both of you. I can hear what you're saying.

(That must have been in Hungarian; they didn't react.)

"Come on now, chap. Up with you."

I want a real Irish coffee. No "minus the Irish."

"Whatever you like, my good son. But I'll be driving."

The chill of the evening hit him like a slap in the face, and as he tottered along beside Jonathan, the edges of a painful world began to take shape in the numbness. At that moment it occurred to him in a vague kind of clarity that this was pathetic. Was he really just going to drink himself into oblivion while everyone else went on about their lives, doing as they pleased, going when they felt like going, staying when it was convenient? Was he just going to drink until he passed out on the sidewalk and they left him there? Because that's what they'd do. They'd leave him. He'd be as pathetic as ever.

Beni Gabor was tired of being pathetic. He was tired of being expendable and disliked.

He supposed there wasn't much he could do about that.

"You do not like me, do you, Jonathan?"

His brother-in-law balked, shifting his weight uncomfortably behind the wheel. "What's that? Of course I like you, my good son. We're family now, you know."

"That does not mean you like me."

Jonathan heaved a sigh. He cast a serious glance across the car. "Well, to be perfectly honest...I'd like you a sight more if you weren't so hard on my sister."

"I'm not hard on her..."

"You aren't very nice," Jonathan told him pointedly.

Beni sighed. _"She_ isn't very nice either."

The car was quiet.

"The old girl does the best she can."

Beni's eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Well maybe I do the best I can. Did you think of that?"

Jonathan raised his eyebrows.

"I don't think you do, though," he said after a moment. "I don't think you gave her an honest shot..."

"She didn't give _me_ an honest shot," Beni retorted. "Nobody does."

They drove in silence the rest of the way to the bar. Or wherever it was they were going. Jonathan put it in park and let out a sigh.

"Well," he said at last. "How's this for an honest shot? I'll buy you a drink."

Beni looked at him. "You know I deserved that promotion."

Jonathan offered him a stiff shrug. "Well...that's the way of things, isn't it?"

"Rick O'Connell is an idiot," he told him in a harsh voice. "Why did your father invite him to dinner?"

Jonathan let out a sigh, and said in a tone that was almost bitter. "Oh, I don't know. I suppose for Delphine."

"Delphine?"

"He's been coming around a bit to see her, you know..."

"I didn't know." Beni let out a sigh, a kind of grimace wrinkling his lip. "You know the only reason he got that promotion is because people like him."

Jonathan scratched the back of his neck and grumbled, "Well. I don't see what's so likable about him."

Beni turned and met his eyes. They stared at each other for a strange moment, and then Beni's hand reached for the car door.

"I'll drink to that."


	28. wearing white

_Author's Note: Le fin. Thank you so much for following this (and all of the other little subplots and off-shoots it's spawned). You all are too kind!_

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The characters of Lord Carnahan, Delphine Bertrand (loosely based on the character of Desdemona created by William Shakespeare), Mara, and Jemima Willoughby are my own inventions. The term "amour fou" is French for "insane love," and means a kind of obsessive passion. I like that it's by nature a juxtapositional term, so it works for this story._

* * *

**AMOUR FOU**

* * *

_The Carnahan Manor: Cairo, 1925_

No one at the tense, uncomfortable table even noticed Delphine was **wearing white**. Before supper, she'd been nervous someone would comment on the new, airy little frock, with its bright, pure hue and touches of lace. But the most recognition she and the dress got was a sweet little smile from Jonathan, and a, "you look nice" just before Beni's drunken rants took over and distracted everyone.

Jonathan had just dragged Beni out now, and Delphine seriously doubted they would even make it out of the driveway. She imagined Jonathan holding Beni by his shoulders while he wretched his gin-soaked brains out, and wondered vaguely how long it would be before the front door opened and Jonathan tugged his unconscious brother-in-law up the stairs.

She sighed dismally and twisted her fingers together under the table. She was glad Ardeth hadn't been here to see that. After his heartfelt show of gratitude in the parlor the other night, she knew such pettiness from Beni would only disappoint him.

Rick O'Connell sat there next to her, shifting his weight uncomfortably, his hand flexing on his fork like he wanted to eat but didn't think it was the polite thing to do. She offered him a smile and took a bite from her plate, even though she was much too anxious about tonight to feel like eating anything. Evelyn and Lord Carnahan were exchanging disapproving glances, and Delphine wished she was sitting next to her cousin so that she could give her hand an encouraging squeeze.

By all accounts, Beni had been getting better. He stayed home with Evelyn now in the evenings. They didn't pick fights with one another, and only a few nights ago, Beni had told a story...or maybe made a comment?...that made Evelyn laugh. How disappointed and embarrassed she must be after such a display, and just when they were starting to really get along...

Delphine shook her head and glanced at the clock. Had this been a normal dinner, they'd have finished dessert by now, and she could be dropping hints at turning in early for the evening. But Beni's tirade had put everything out of sorts and left her with an untouched roast in front of her and no appetite to eat it.

"Maybe I should just go," Rick said all of the sudden.

Evelyn's gaze shot over to his in horror. "Oh, don't do that - "

He held up his hands, staring back at her apologetically. "Coming here really wasn't the best idea..."

He stood up and put his napkin on the table, offering them a strained but sincere smile. "You folks have a nice night."

He strode out of the room, and Evelyn chewed on her lip anxiously. Suddenly, she got up from her seat and hurried after him.

"Lt. O'Connell, wait - "

Nigel watched her leave with raised eyebrows, but said nothing. Breathing a sigh, he turned his attention to Delphine.

"And then there were two."

She forced a smile, and felt him eyeing her and her plate.

"Though I assume you'll be taking your leave as well."

Delphine glanced up at him guiltily. "I'm sorry. I think I've just lost my appetite."

Her uncle snorted, pushing his chair back from the table. "Well. Haven't we all."

She offered him another smile, more genuine than the last, and told him, "I am just going to go out for a cigarette."

Nigel looked her over as she stood up, and nodded his head slowly. "Ease up on those. Anything that makes one's teeth look like Beni's can't possibly be good for your health."

Delphine nodded, not quite able to chuckle at his comment. "I am trying to quit, actually..."

"Well, in that case," he said, a funny kind of smile on his face, "better savor them while you can."

She crossed the room over to him and gave him a hug. She felt him plant a kiss on top of her head, and sigh.

"Promise me you won't do what Evy's done," he said quietly. He pulled her out of his arms and looked at her with his stern, gray eyes. "Promise me you won't marry just anybody on a whim."

For a second, she felt cold and guilty, and she swore he knew. She swore he knew. But when she nodded her head, he didn't say anything else. He gave her shoulder a squeeze and drifted off in the direction of the parlor, and Delphine breathed a sigh of relief. She glanced at the clock and gasped, hurrying out the glass French doors that let onto the garden.

The moon was waxing on, and would be full in a night or two; it hung low and bright and heavy, blanketing everything in silver light. Delphine looked this way and that until her gaze collided with a tall, dark figure that was certainly Ardeth's. She smiled, and rushed to him. His arms were warm and strong about her body, and her breath hitched in her throat as she remembered that tonight, finally, they would make love.

He gently pulled out of her embrace and held her out at arm's length. She was nervous and exhilarated all at once to see the way his eyes slipped down her body, and the way his throat jerked with a nervous swallow. She sucked in a breath and gave him an anxious smile.

"Was, um, your supper...pleasant?" he asked in a distracted voice, not quite looking away from her body.

Delphine felt a rush of coldish feelings at the mention of supper. Her smile faded for a moment, but she quickly picked it back up again. She didn't want to think about supper, and she certainly didn't want to tell him about it. Ardeth didn't need to know how bitter and upset Beni was over the promotion. There was no reason for that to dampen their evening or Ardeth's mood.

She blinked and told him brightly, "It was divine."

He smiled, and took her by the hand. His voice was amused, "I am glad to hear it."

She let him lead her further into the garden, to a little olive tree where he'd hitched his horse. Delphine almost grimaced, but quickly pushed that expression away and gave him a tight smile.

"I thought you were bringing your car..."

He patted the horse's neck. "I thought this would be quieter."

"Yes, but..."

Ardeth glanced down at her in confusion, and as soon as she looked into his dark eyes, she decided not to fret over it. She'd never pictured herself smelling like a stable on her wedding day, or having to worry over black horse hair catching in the lace of her dress, but...those things didn't matter. None of it mattered. She hadn't pictured herself in a short summer dress any normal girl would wear to a tea, either. But this was how it was. This was how it would be, and it was perfect.

"Nevermind."

He swung on and helped her up behind him. They trotted across the lawn and into the dirt streets, the gentle clop of the horse's hooves silent to those inside the Carnahan Manor; his black body blanketed even in the soft brightness of the night. Delphine's breath caught in her throat for a moment when she looked into the yellow lit study where Evelyn was talking with Lt. O'Connell, but her cousin didn't see her. Ardeth urged the horse faster, and they slipped down the street in a smooth, quiet canter.

She had never been to the part of the town they were riding to, but she knew it was an Arab community from the silhouettes of the houses. Ardeth pulled the horse to a stop in front of one house in particular, situated next to a dome-headed building she knew to be a mosque. Ardeth dismounted and helped her down, and when her feet touched the sand beneath, her heart started to pound faster.

This was it.

She could hardly believe this moment was happening, and she couldn't believe it was happening like this. She felt like she was in a dream - a wonderful, beautiful, hazy dream that she would keep forever tucked away in a secret place in her heart. There was only her, and Ardeth, and the imam, who might have looked over her fashionable Western dress curiously, but hid the expression well enough. He had tattoos like Ardeth's across his face and hands, and they married there in the moonlight, by themselves.

It was a curious occasion, nothing like any other wedding Delphine had attended. Ardeth took her by the hands and asked him to marry her. Before she could even answer (_But aren't we getting married right now, mon cher?_), he was holding a piece of paper and telling her something about a gift...and some amount of money she could expect to receive throughout her lifetime. Delphine was confused, but Ardeth was smiling patiently at her the whole time, and she decided it didn't matter. If this was how it was done, then this was how it was done.

"Now you will say_ qabul_ three times."

Delphine's brow wrinkled, giving the word a try, _"Qabul?"_

"It means 'I accept,'" Ardeth explained.

She giggled. _"Qabul, qabul, qabul."_ She flashed him a smile. "I don't jinx it if I saw a fourth _qabul,_ do I?"

Ardeth shook his head, flicking a glance up at the imam. "I do not think so." He looked back at her, and he said it, too._ "Qabul, qabul, qabul."_

They signed the paper that Ardeth had in his hand - the marriage contract that apparently detailed the monetary amounts he'd talked about earlier - and then the imam brought them a date to share. He might have blessed the marriage, or said something in closing, but Delphine never heard him. The date was sweet and juicy and her heart was racing in her chest. All she could think about as she chewed nervously on the last few bites was Ardeth and his burning dark gaze. She stared back up at him, her throat dry, too anxious and nervous and exhilarated to breathe.

For the flash of a moment, she might have remembered Evelyn, lacing herself into that antique of a dress just so the wedding would pass dazedly before her eyes. But Delphine didn't need a corset to feel that way. She grasped at moments of her wedding ceremony, slipping through her fingers like grains of sand. She knew one day she'd want to remember them as vividly as possible, but _oh,_ how she longed to leave with Ardeth as his wife at last...

They thanked the imam and slipped back out into the night. Delphine's palm was clammy, clasped tight in Ardeth's, and she rushed to keep up with him down the walk and over to his horse.

_Oh..._

He swung onto the horse and pulled her up beside him, and he nudged the animal into a brisk gallop. Her arms tightened around him and she tried to make the cool night air calm her excitement, but instead each heady breath made her more anxious than the last.

They took a turn down a row of local casbahs and bars, and the horse had to slow to a jolting trot in order to pick its way around the oblivious patrons staggering and loitering in the street. Ardeth murmured impatiently to himself in Arabic, and Delphine stifled a giggle, casting an amused glance at the bar. So these were the first people to see them, man and wife. She had no receiving line of beloved guests; just nightwalkers and partiers, enjoying the cool night and a few stiff drinks.

Just then the bar door opened, and a pair of thin, familiar forms made their way out. Delphine frowned thoughtfully, having forgotten all about her unpleasant supper and Jonathan's bright idea about taking Beni to a bar. She was about to avert her eyes, and maybe even try to cover her face a little. She was just about to do it, but she was a moment late. She felt the hooks of Beni's steely eyes latch onto her, and for a moment that felt much longer than it must have been, they stared at one another. She wasn't sure of the expression on his face, but something about the way his bloodshot eyes were boring into her...something about a nasty twitch in his mouth, paralyzed her. She felt chilled to her bones, frozen in an entirely different kind of anxiety than she'd been feeling earlier. He blinked heavily, and she_ knew_ he was drunk - she _knew it - _but there was something strangely calculating about his gaze as he looked from her to Ardeth, and back to her again. A leering, yellow smirk was starting up his face when Ardeth's horse bolted and started galloping again.

Delphine sucked in a deep breath of the air whipping past her face and tried to quell the uneasiness turning over inside of her. She was being ridiculous. She reminded herself that Beni was Evelyn's husband, and a trusted friend of Ardeth's, and he was_ just_ drunk._ Mon Dieu_, the man had been drinking since before noon. He probably wasn't even leering_ at_ her...and if he was, he probably wasn't even aware he was doing it. That's the kind of drunk he was - past making any expression in particular. He was probably just trying to keep from throwing up.

She shook off her apprehension and reminded herself that it was her wedding day. It was her wedding night. And they were racing deeper and deeper into the wild seclusion of the desert. Her heart and mind filled with thoughts of her new husband again, and she gasped back her delight. They were married. The two of them would be together forever.

In the distance she saw a glowing yellow light, stowed safely against the wall of a sand dune. Ardeth slowed the horse, and jumped off almost before the animal had stopped. He took it by the reins and led it towards the light, which Delphine could now see was a merry, crackling fire. She smiled at him, and in the golden light of the fire, she could see a little smile in the corner of his mouth as well.

"You did this ahead of time," she said.

Ardeth nodded.

"But isn't that dangerous?"

He glanced up at her. "Out here, the only danger is the wind snuffing it out."

Delphine's eyes drifted away from him, gazing this way and that way and all around her. The sand was blue with moonlight; there was nothing but the sand and the sky and that glowing moon, and the two of them. Just the two of them.

He hitched the horse to a stake he must have pounded into the sand earlier and helped her down. Her feet landed with a soft thud, and she looked him in the eye. She wanted to smile, but she couldn't quite. She was too anxious...perhaps too nervous. Though she didn't feel nervous _exactly,_ just...just ready.

So ready.

She stared into his eyes.

"I love you," she told him, a whisper in the quiet and chill.

He touched her face, his fingers getting caught in her hair. "I love you, too. Forever."

She started to smile, but he stopped her lips with a kiss so full and forceful that it made her moan in the back of her throat._ Mon Dieu,_ how she'd waited for this, for right now, for the moment he'd kiss her and never stop himself.

_Don't stop._

He had a Berber rug spread out on the sand beside the fire, and heaps of blankets and pillows all around. He pulled her closer to the rug, closer to the fire, close enough to be warm...perhaps too warm, with clothes on. But she didn't want her clothes any more. She just wanted him. She wanted him and this moment and the moonlight and the fire. She wanted to feel things such as she'd never felt before.

"You're all I want," she told him when their clothes were in the sand and it was just the two of them, just them and the air and nothing else. She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt his body against hers and longed for him. "You're everything I will ever want."

He stared into her eyes, a fierce and powerful emotion in his gaze. He kissed her like he never had before, crushing her against his chest. She gasped and held onto him, dizzy from his kisses and the urgency of expectation. Somehow she was on the rug, on her back, gazing up at him. He kissed her again, hot and frantic, and it was just them in the moonlight and the firelight. It was just her, with her arms wrapped around him and her legs wrapped around him. It was just him, inside her and over her. It was all she wanted.

It was everything she would ever want.

**end.**


End file.
